


catharsis

by bunshima



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, also lucifer is going through it, god i dont even know what to tag this, think the creation of sandalphon but stretched to epic proportions, what do you want me to say about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:33:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25961392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunshima/pseuds/bunshima
Summary: To hold something so precious in one's hands– perhaps he understands Lucilius a little better now.(or how Lucifer created Sandalphon)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> so ive literally been working on this since early may because [a drawing by lupatier](https://twitter.com/LUPATIER/status/1256283398324260865?s=19) gave me such severe brain rot that i went and wrote 22k about it. yeah.
> 
> disclaimer: theres probably a lot of mistakes in this but please fucking take it, i poured my blood sweat and tears into this PLEASE dont let it flop

"Your reports seem like they will suffice for the council - I'll look over them again in detail later.", Lucilius responds before he moves the small stack of parchment to an empty spot on his cluttered desk.

 _A common sight,_ Lucifer notes silently as he looks at the disordered mess of paper and binders sprawled out across a plane of dark wood. Preparations for council meetings always take up an obscene amount of his friend's time as they want only the best of his research, preferably served to them on a silver platter. With such pressure, stress and therefore trivial mistakes mount. Not even researchers of Lucilius' caliber are spared from such. 

But even with this current undertaking at hand, Lucifer has something that he would like to impart, something that will likely be another cause of distress for his friend, but this particular matter… it has been burning in his midst for quite some time. 

"My friend?", Lucifer begins sheepishly, great hesitation in his demeanor while he shifts from one foot to another. 

"Did you forget something?", the Astral responds after a brief pause in which he took a sip from his mug, grimacing at the fact that its contents had gotten cold long ago. "As I said, I'll read them and let you know if there is something amiss. **Later."**

"No, I simply had a question - _a request,_ rather." It feels wrong to call it that and he immediately regrets it. Such a selfish way of putting it. "I am aware that you have been devising plans to create more primal beasts… **_primarchs,_ ** as your studies call them. I would like to assist you in your task."

Lucilius had taken another mouthful of cold tea as he listened to him. Even now, his mug was held close to his face, just enough for two piercing eyes to peer over the rim with something he can't quite place. His friend is a dear one to him, but sometimes Lucifer can't tell if his glances belie murderous intent or boundless interest. _It's always a gamble._ Another moment is spent in uncomfortable silence between them, until he can hear Lucilius gulp audibly, putting down his mug once more. 

"This doesn't lie within your tasks; you needn't concern yourself with such menial things for my sake.", he responds, his tone cold even if his words might carry something akin to fondness. 

"I would like to nonetheless. Not for your sake, but… my own, then." _Perhaps if he puts it this way it'll work._ "I'm simply curious."

"My studies for the next project have already concluded, thus moving on to the execution of them. I require no assistance from your side, I'm afraid." 

"I see." A pause follows in which Lucifer has to fight with his own composure, determined to keep even a subtle frown at bay - but for naught. His wings droop, feathers cladding them tight. "My apologies."

"... However, I might have an assignment in the same field for you.", Lucilius continues and pays no heed to possible objections or suggestions, "I'll be sure to lend you my refined core and cradle studies so that you may try your hand at primal craft."

The thought alone overjoys Lucifer like nothing else has ever before. To be the one granting more of his kin the gift of life - he doesn't even think of the fact that primal beasts are no more than means to serve their creators' ends. But this specimen, _this primal,_ shall be free of such shackles. 

"I would love no more than that, my friend.", Lucifer responds with a nod of his head.

* * *

Three hefty binders are dropped upon a desk at the library, followed by the sound of Lucilius' pitiful wheezing and panting. Lucifer can only stand frozen in place with mild bewilderment written all over his visage as he looks upon the unholy amalgamation of parchment before him. The Astral had warned him: the finalized studies for his primal crafts are quite the read. _Lucifer should've taken his words more literal._

"This is all you require to begin your research.", Lucilius states once having caught his breath - yet he still sounds winded, "The materials for the new core are stored in the basement. I trust your judgement in choosing them carefully."

"Thank you, my friend." 

A bow of Lucifer's head follows, which Lucilius takes as his cue to leave him to his own devices. Right away, he sits down at the desk and begins to read the binder containing information about cores and their prosperities, differences, variations, variables in testing, the meaning in their coloration - and before Lucifer can even grasp the thought of going into the researcher's basement to find the materials he needs, _it has already become nightfall._

Tall windows mean nothing if there is no sun to shine through and illuminate the room, and the very few rays at dusk are barely enough for Lucifer to keep reading. All that's left for him is to ignite the old oil lamp on his table but, clever as he is, makes sure to rest it on the next desk over to prevent a potential mishap. He would never forgive himself if it were to come to that... _Lucilius would do so even less._

The light is sparse, though it will suffice for the time being. It takes him additional hours on hours to decipher the Astral's handwriting properly, _but it's worth it._ After a sleepless night, he can finally narrow down the materials he requires: a vial of drake bile, quartz, milled prisms, and a pinch of dried beast marrow. 

To think that he was no more than a clumped mass of organic matter that seems like it was deliberately thrown together - it's a strange picture, really.

According to the study that covers the bare basics, further ingredients may be added to determine visual details which inevitably affects the primal's cradle. There's quite a few possible outcomes based on the illustrations. Lucifer keeps reading, chooses to overlook the listing of first criteria for… _disposal_ (oh, how he hates that word). In the end, his eye catches on the sketch of a split cradle, feathers giving view on the insides of it. It doesn't help that his curious eye immediately jumps to a note on the side, stating that cradles may burst prematurely if there aren't enough downs to protect their contents from sunlight. 

Not even the Supreme Primarch can stop himself from grimacing at the mental image that presents itself. The memory of a test related to cradles gone wrong is still vivid in his mind: a burst of red, unfinished bits of gore spilling onto alabaster pavement, the faint screeching of a core in unimaginable agony – 

"Did you not rest?" 

Lucilius' voice manages to tear Lucifer from his disconcerting daydream. His head whips around in search of the Astral until his gaze eventually falls upon his figure as he slowly shuffles to his table. He's still wearing the comfortable robes he usually wears to bed, holding not one, but two mugs. To anyone else, Lucilius is less than thoughtful at best... but Lucifer knows that he can be just that - if he so pleases.

"I - I didn't.", he replies, his stomach still turning, "I found myself caught up in your studies, my friend."

"I see.", comes the simple response as Lucilius puts down a mug of steaming hot tea for him, "This craft demands your undivided attention. Without frequent breaks, mistakes are more likely to occur - which one cannot afford in this case."

"I thought the council saw a primal's restlessness as a virtue." It wasn't meant to be a quip, but that's what became of the thought once voiced.

Cue a snort from Lucilius, before he takes a swig of his tea.

"I would expect no less from individuals who didn't take the time to consider what fatigue does even to our kin."

* * *

The musty odor of the basement attacks his every sense, but it can't be helped. 

Ever careful, fingers search through a large cabinet, filled with several small boxes. A particular one had caught Lucifer's eye between the others, even if he can't decipher the label on it. Gently setting the other boxes aside, the primarch is eager to get his hands on this specific one - he doesn't quite understand it himself, but perhaps Lucilius' determined curiosity is rubbing off on him. 

Tingling settles in the tips of his fingers as he gently lifts the lid and reveals bundles of bunched up parchment. This isn't as spectacular as one had hoped it to be at first glance, but Lucifer can feel excitement build at his midst. It took him some time to find his way through the large archive of samples his creator has amassed during his life, but finally, finally Lucifer found the foundation for his very own project. 

Gently, he sets the box aside and takes one of the bundles into his hands, cradling it like the most precious little thing in the realm. Parchment is brushed aside to reveal parts of a crystal, glittering in yellow hues. It's smooth, yet coarse, all jagged edges, yet made up of gentle curves - opposites aren't enough to describe its otherworldly prosperities. _It should not be but yet it is._

It's quiet, but it's there: a soft hum, emitted by this curious mineral. 

Vibrations thrum in his fingertips when Lucifer dares to touch it, a low tone following as he allows his fingers to caress its cold surface. 

Lucilius' study was speaking of a 'core's melody', but as no more than an afterthought. He had already taken note of something as that during the times he watched over the researcher's progress in recreating his success, but now he understands it a bit better. It's the _quartz,_ every core's base, that reacts to Astrals… _and primals,_ as it seems. Despite the fact that Lucilius' research is the product of hundreds of years of dedicated work, this is still a mostly undescribed phenomenon. 

Not quite satisfied with what he's hearing, Lucifer carefully wraps the quartz up all neat and chooses the next. This chunk has a darker coloration, its hues bordering on orange and brown, rather than yellow. It's hum is louder than the last, but has something almost discordant to it. Dragging his finger along it doesn't help; the motion produces a sound akin to nails on a chalkboard. _Yeah, he's going to steer clear of that one._ A shake of his head is needed to get rid of the high-pitched tone in his right ear before he puts the wretched thing away. 

And thus, his hand hovers over the next bundle. 

"Lucifer?" 

Lucilius' voice echoes through the archives, bounces off the walls and the many, many cabinets. 

"I'm at…" Cue a quick glance up at the cabinet he's at, a large label indicating his whereabouts. "At section ten."

Unintelligible grumbles reach his ears as his dear friend likely curses having introduced his prized creation to his practices. Distant footsteps follow and Lucifer decides to divert his attention back to the quartz fragments. He'll take a while to get to this particular section, as it is located in the far back of the archives where not a soul would dare to search for whatever they're looking for. Lucifer understands - these items are beyond all worldly value. 

The next bundle he picks is rather heavy but, much to his disdain, there's only a miniscule reaction to his touch and it doesn't quite _'sing'_ to him as the others did. Its tone remains a droning hum and it is so harsh on his ears that he involuntarily sneers at it before quickly putting it back. The following few aren't really promising either and so Lucifer goes through the entire box, unable to find one that catches his interest. Still holding onto the last cluster he had picked, he carefully considers his next step - should he just pick one from this batch or look through a few more boxes?

"None suit your tastes?"

Lucifer startles, clutching the fragment to his chest in both hands out of sheer panic - he doesn't want to imagine what were to happen if he dropped a precious thing like this. His friend really needs to walk about a little louder, lest he scares someone to death ('someone' namely being mostly Lucifer).

"Not yet.", Lucifer responds… _albeit rather absent-mindedly._

"I had similar difficulties when collecting the materials for you. _Nothing felt right.",_ Lucilius tells him as he opens the cabinet next to Lucifer's and quickly begins to search through the boxes. These are filled with different fragments of purple, magenta, and rose hues, glimmering in the dim lighting - but this goes unnoticed by Lucifer.

A gentle hum thrums in his hands, softer and more high-pitched than the last few he had heard. To his surprise, his own core responds in kind. The orb in his side pulses in tune to the fragments' quiet calls. Such sensation was unknown to him up to this point. There's warmth rising in his midst, his stomach turns, something flutters within his chest. 

_This is_ **_the_ ** _one._

"Actually… I think I might have found a good one.", Lucifer states and is quick to extend the bundle to his friend.

Surprisingly, Lucilius simply takes the precious chunk into his hand without the parchment and holds it against the lantern light, causing it to twinkle in the prettiest citrine shades, prettier than anything Lucifer has seen during his search for the perfect fragment. 

"These are rather old samples, but this one has few impurities. Aside from that, it is rather average in its prosperities.", the Astral responds as he looks upon it with keen eyes for a few moments longer before returning it to Lucifer. "Are you sure about this one?" 

"Yes, I am." Lucifer nods, determined. 

* * *

"Add the marrow in small increments…", comes the soft mumble after a quick look at notes. 

Lucilius' studies, even if finalized, are cluttered at best, so Lucifer had to resort to writing his own research papers on the topic. All steps for core forgery are neatly displayed on a list. His creator had voiced his disdain over such earlier and he still has to recover from that - his friend will always remain a peculiar one about his own research; if one doesn't follow his instructions, they're butchering his hard work. He understands his worries; this craft isn't to be taken lightly. 

Equipped with gloves, a face mask, and a fitted lab coat, working feels cumbersome but Lucifer would rather not dirty his usual garments. With great care, he adds the powdered beast marrow into a large beaker with a solution of the fragments, ground prisms, and bile he had prepared prior. The concoction's bitter scent is close to unbearable, even with a mask on, and it only seems to get worse with every grain of dried marrow he adds to it. The bile had already started to react with the quartz when he first added it but now, as he stirs the putrid brew, the pretty yellow mass begins to dissolve in large chunks. 

By the time he finishes adding the last component, the solution has turned into an even mixture; the materials are indistinguishable from one another and all that remains is a golden shimmer, likely due to the quartz chunks. 

In the meantime, Lucilius had joined him, quietly going about his own business - and already being a ways ahead of him. His new core has already solidified, one of lustrous wine-red color, shimmering purple in the right light. Completely devoid of impurities, air bubbles, and cracks. _A perfectly shaped marvel of science._ The orb manages to turn Lucifer's head with ease as Lucilius handles it gently while assessing its curve closely. To think that his own might look similar once he is done - it overjoys him to no end. 

And so he goes back to paying close attention to his own little miracle… or well, soon-to-be miracle, since it still looks like the inklings of a gold slime. The stirring becomes harder and harder with each flick of his wrist. In the end, he finds himself forced to stop, his arm eventually plagued by excruciating cramps. 

"Is it supposed to thicken like this?", Lucifer can't help but ask when he tries to remove the long metal spoon he's been using, though to no avail. It's just stuck. 

"It's a good sign.", Lucilius responds, "Though, I would remove the spoon before the core assimilates it."

His spoon begins to sink deeper into the mass just as the Astral says that. **_Great._ ** Who would've thought that stirring the inklings of life with a simple spoon was a bad idea? _Well, Lucifer certainly didn't consider such._

"I think… I should've waited a while longer with this…" He doesn't mean to sound as disheartened as he does, but all the prior excitement led him to be reckless. Even if the only casualty has been a spoon so far, he doesn't want to imagine what else could happen.

A laugh follows. A short, _genuine_ bout of laughter.

"Well, the mass you see is already alive in a sense; see it as feeding your specimen. The metal shouldn't cause any reactions. If anything, _it aids the process."_ Cue a short pause and Lucilius rises from his hunched over posture to turn to Lucifer. "Though, I wouldn't recommend simply tossing things together."

The Supreme Primarch's gaze shifts from his friend to the accursed beaker, filled with a soon-to-be primal core. A little puff of gas and a soft gurgle is all that remains of the makeshift lab utensil and he can't stop himself from sighing deeply. 

_This particular primal could barely be called alive and they're already a troublemaker._

* * *

The next step of his first ever project is a less than thrilling one, as Lucilius' study explained. For the most part it consists of waiting, waiting, and more waiting. The core mass will solidify on its own, but it may take several days to do so. It should be placed somewhere with minimal sunlight to avoid alterations during later stages. 

Lucifer had politely declined the offer to place the beaker with his (literally) spoonfed solution in one of the laboratory wings… so now it rests on his shelf for the time being. Not very safe, but he's sure that this little life form prefers his quarters over the sterile environment of the lab. It doesn't have eyes yet, but it may sense these changes (at least Lucifer is convinced of such). 

However, in the meantime, as his own specimen slowly develops, Lucifer has decided to tag along with Lucilius during the creation of his newest primarch. 

The sun shines upon them relentlessly on their way to the structure that has aided the Supreme Primarch's development - and will continue to do so for future generations of primals.

Six alabaster pillars, carefully erected in a hexagon, tower over the scenery. Most methods pertaining to a cradle's safe keeping were mentioned nowhere even in Lucilius' finalized version of his cradle research papers. Thus, Lucifer can only look upon them in amazement as the two of them stand before the structure. The pillars are _massive_ \- he isn't even sure if he can see the top from where they stand.

"I haven't thought of a name for these yet... well, names are simple trivialities by this point anyway.", Lucilius begins, "This is where your cradle once thrived." 

It's weird to see this location again - the memories of it are faint, but they're there. Something nestles at his midriff. A peculiar feeling of comfort, no more than a gentle flutter. This is where he was born, if one could call it such. Steps ahead draw his attention from the imposing, yet simple architecture, his gaze cast forward once more. Right away, it falls upon his creator… or rather, what's _behind_ him. 

A wooden crate, big enough to house a beast.

"Come, Lucifer.", Lucilius says, "I want you to see it."

Right away, the Supreme Primarch joins his side with hurried steps, feathers ruffled in a combination of anxiety and curiosity. A closer look gives away that the crate has a door in the front. With keen eyes he watches the Astral undo the lock mechanism and open the crate with seemingly unnecessary care. Lucifer can only tilt his head at the scene. 

Merely a second after Lucilius had unlocked the crate, the Supreme Primarch can feel something zip past his feet. It startles him, causing him to jump back a few steps. His head whips around in search of what could've been fast enough to evade even _his_ senses before he eventually notices a blur belt along the pavement and between both his and the Astral's feet - at least until Lucilius manages to quite literally put his foot down at the right moment.

Lucifer isn't quite sure what he's looking at. His creator's foot is holding down a golden ring to which little wings are attached, fluttering frantically against their captor. Pinned against the floor, quietly whimpering, is the purple core Lucilius has been working on. A prism shard rests close to the core's underside, scraping over the floor as it seems to struggle. There's no visible connection from the core to the ring, the shard, _or even the wings,_ and yet it all appears to be attached to one another, the components unable to move in their predicament. 

_"Such an insolent little thing.",_ Lucilius grunts as he bends down and grabs the ring to lift the peculiar being. He attempts to balance it on his palm to show it off properly, but isn't able to do so without being whacked in the head by a wing. However, when its prism hovers above his palm, it ceases its senseless struggle. "This is a primarch core.", the Astral begins to explain, "If the core has been forged properly, it'll develop these… _attachments_ with time. It is still blind, but movement poses no issue to them - _as you have just witnessed."_

His explanation has awakened careful enthusiasm within Lucifer, so the primal looks upon the floating core with wonder in his eyes, even cautiously leaning in to get a closer look, but still maintains some distance. 

"May I touch it?", he asks. 

All the Astral does is extend his arm a bit further in response. Even with movement involved, the soon-to-be primarch keeps a perfect balance on Lucilius' palm, emitting a faint whistle, likely as a way of expressing surprise. It truly is a marvel of science. Seeing this rather simple life form and knowing that one day it will become a being similar to him feels _unreal._ It's hard to imagine that this little thing is all it takes to create a primal, equipped with all they need to exist - to be viable.

Perhaps rather overcautious, Lucifer slips his palm into the space between the prism shard and the Astral's hand. The primarch core is floating, yet he can feel weight as he slowly lifts it and retracts his arm to examine the core. A low sound reaches him; it differs greatly from the melodies he heard from the quartz chunks. Sonorous and deep, closer to a rumble than a hum. It isn't without hesitation when he dares to encase the vivid orb in his other hand - to his surprise, _it's warm,_ pulses ever subtly under his touch. Its little wings flutter, feathers ruffled in response to the likely foreign sensation of being handled like this. Carefully, fingers trace along its flawless curvature, drawing another wonderful tone... as if it's singing to him.

Nothing could describe the otherworldly sensation of holding this object - no, _this being_ \- so it seems futile to even attempt such. It almost feels like it shouldn't be and hearing its wonderful melody makes even less sense in theory. And yet, _yet_ Lucifer is closely examining it, seeing it thrive; _it_ **_is_ ** _real._

"This is _amazing.",_ he states, breathless as if the sight had robbed him of it. His gaze is directed back at Lucilius - and it catches on his visage.

The Astral gazes upon him with softened features, most visible at his eyes while his mouth still boasts the usual frown. He simply watches him in silence. Lucifer can't quite grasp what affection this simple glance bears, so it goes uncommented. _It's for the best._

"So it is.", Lucilius agrees.

The Supreme Primarch doesn't understand that his creator isn't speaking of the core.

* * *

Time passes; Lucifer doesn't know whether it is days, weeks or even months, but what he does know now is that creating a primal is an excruciatingly slow process, _an elaborate test of patience._ With this in mind, one can imagine his surprise when he takes a look at the beaker on his top shelf, only to realize that the mass in it had solidified and grown into a perfectly round core.

His knees shake as he stands on his stepping stool and carefully takes the glass beaker into his unsteady hold, looking at the orb with excitement. He had done everything properly after all. Time and time again he was in dire need of Lucilius' reassurance that everything is following its natural course of action even if variables in time are possible.

Before he can grip the conscious thought to move, his legs are already carrying him to the laboratory complex, well aware that his creator is working at this time of the day. On his way there, he passes groups upon groups of workers joining their colleagues on a grassy plain nearby where they begin to build wooden scaffolding around the beginnings of new pillars. Other Astrals had spoken of the high council giving Lucilius permission to use land for his undertaking, but Lucifer hadn't expected his creator to take them by their word to this extent. It makes Lucifer wonder about the future - what they see now, _what Lucilius is planning,_ is likely only the inklings of something beyond imagination. A **glorious** future, no doubt. 

He rushes past the Astrals as they make way for him and hurries into the lab complex, immediately going for the wing of Lucilius' choosing: primal development. Well, it _used_ to be creature-related research, but his creator had voiced distaste over his magnum opus being equated to some lowly beast (although Lucifer doesn't mind other researchers comparing him to carbuncles; they're adorable critters).

Lucifer enters the long hallway that leads to all the necessary means one needs to create new life, heads for the room meant for core forgery. The door is pushed open without further ado but he stops in the doorframe mid-step. _Lucifer isn't quite ready for the sight that unfolded before him just now:_ countless books and binders are scattered about to the point where the giant bookshelf in the room is nearly completely devoid of its literature, a mattress has been shoved into a corner along with some blankets to create a makeshift bed, countless cups and mugs line a beautiful escritoire of dark wood - but the researcher left a small space on it unoccupied so there can still be writing done.

Needless to say, Lucilius **lives** for his work, so, _of course,_ the next logical step is to simply avoid going home at all and sleeping at the lab. He's _utterly_ speechless, finds himself unable to gather his wits. Then, voices down the corridor cause him to flinch in surprise. With some haste, Lucifer quickly enters the room and closes the door behind him so no one may see the mess his creator left. Even the Supreme Primarch cannot help but throw his hands up (well, very carefully with the core in his hands) in heartfelt despair at the picture of complete disorder before him. 

And amidst it all, Lucifer can see the pile of blankets move in a gentle rise and fall. 

He's quick to realize that Lucilius is resting on the floor, his head seemingly (hopefully) on the mattress while the rest of his body is curled up against the stone tiles, still sleeping soundly as if this was just fine. _No wonder he always complains about his back._

Still rather shocked by this highly concentrated state of disarray, Lucifer takes the necessary step of putting his beaker with the core aside for the moment, taking the time to clasp his hands over his face in multiple different ways, before he quietly moves over to the blanket bundle, crouches down at its side. He hates inconveniencing his creator but this is important. Carefully, he grips the edge of the blanket to reveal a mess of white hair. However, instead of waking him right then and there, Lucifer decides that it would be for the best to move him; the stone floor **has** to be so cold… and his assumption is confirmed when one of his shins is rested on the tiles for stability. _It's pretty damn cold._

A soft sigh causes Lucifer's nostrils to flare as his hands slip under this utter mess of an Astral and lifts his body onto the mattress. Right away, the small form curls. For a moment the primal is afraid that he has awoken his creator, so he waits. A quiet huff, followed by a grunt. He waits. The figure before him relaxes once more, resting limp on something way, _way_ softer than the floor. **_Success._ **

So he shuffles closer. In an almost tender gesture, Lucifer dares to put his hand on the Astral's shoulder, shaking him as gentle as one could. Hopefully he won't be mad at him. 

_"Lucilius.",_ Lucifer manages to whisper.

Another grunt, then a snort. It's rather sudden when Lucilius bolts up, his head whipping around until he eventually notices Lucifer… which takes longer than expected, _even if he's right beside him._ The Astral seems to relax at the sight, rubs at his eyes and yawns. How he didn't already wake up when he put him on the mattress is quite the riddle; he always thought he was a heavy sleeper that would need more than some shaking to tear him from slumber.

"Good morning.", comes the soft mumble from his creator.

He doesn't have the heart to tell him that it is actually well past noon. 

"Do you… need anything..." Despite being incredibly well-versed and eloquent, Lucilius isn't immune to drowsiness and its less-than-ideal effects on one's behaviour. Unfortunately, Lucifer isn't observant enough to notice that the Astral looks ready to pass out once more.

"Indeed, my friend. **My core** \- it...", the Supreme Primarch begins, but finds himself trailing off.

The weight of the other's head rests against his shoulder and the rest of the Astral's body is following its example, huddling against Lucifer, before he can react properly. His body tenses against his will when met with warmth that isn't his own, wings bristling in addition. It takes him a moment to decide whether this is fine or not, but eventually, he kneels at his creator's side, finds himself listening to his slow breathing. He doesn't know what to think of fingers gently clawing into his clothing as the other holds onto him, being able to feel the rise and fall of an individual's chest so close to him, warmth spreading in his chest. It's something he hasn't known up to this point.

"Five more minutes.", Lucilius mumbles. 

"Have you... overexerted yourself lately?", Lucifer asks, albeit with some hesitation. There's still tension persisting at his shoulders, muscles straining against nothing. He doesn't want to think of this as something strange, yet he can't shake that thought; this isn't the bad kind of strange but it'll take some time getting used to.

"Well, when do I not?", his creator responds with more than just a hint of self-irony. 

Lucifer remains silent and attempts to make the best of his current situation. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he were to move now out of all times, so he does his utmost to stay still. Moments pass like this. His dear friend's breath slows once more and the grip on his clothes loosens a little. A quiet sigh wells up in his throat as he allows his head to sink against the top of Lucilius', slowly coming to terms with his predicament. His calves are starting to rebel against the awful kneeling position he finds himself in, his shins are so cold from the stone flooring that he almost can't feel them anymore, and most importantly, his _impatience_ slowly begins to mount. 

And yet, he permits this.

Occasionally one can hear other Astrals converse as they make their way down the corridor of the complex, but aside from that it's quiet - _the comfortable kind of silence._ But just when Lucifer feels like he has gotten accustomed to this… _this closeness,_ the Astral in his embrace begins to rouse once more, bringing distance between them. 

He isn't quite prepared for the sleep-deprived, yet strangely tender expression Lucilius' features bear as he looks at him and begins to speak, "What did you want to show me?" 

Lucifer perks up immediately. The primal is close to dizzy with how quickly he gets up to retrieve his masterpiece from the table and returns to kneel beside the other at a similar pace. His hands shake ever slightly around the beaker as he holds it out to Lucilius. 

"It finally solidified.", Lucifer speaks with pride swelling within his chest.

The Astral hesitates, gazes upon it for a moment in complete stillness, before he takes the beaker to give the core inside a closer look. 

"Ah… it's - it's rather _cloudy,_ don't you think?", the researcher points out, "The surface isn't smooth."

Thanks to the remaining drowsiness, Lucilius' assessment of his results isn't as harsh as it usually would have been. Lucifer is well aware that many of his apprentices had to give up their positions due to the Astral's expectations that only few managed to meet, _not to mention surpass._ But perhaps this is what Lucifer needs. So far, the Supreme Primarch had looked upon his personal project with nothing but rose-tinted glasses, so a professional opinion - with criticism to match - is vital.

To continue the scrutiny of this core, Lucilius takes the orb from its beaker. Right away, a high-pitched whistling sound pierces Lucifer's ears, forcing him to cringe. Not a moment later, the sound of shattering glass follows. The two of them flinch in surprise and Lucifer's eyes widen at the sight of his beautiful little core - mangled. Large cracks have formed just beneath its surface. The one consolation is that it managed to retain its shape (even if Lucifer now notices how misshapen it really is).

"Oh, no...", comes the dejected sigh from Lucifer.

"Your core is surprisingly unstable.", Lucilius notes while examining the whole situation closer, turning the core in his palm. Even his creator, who has seen enough scientific revelations to last several lifetimes, seems deeply fascinated by what he's currently looking at. "I don't remember seeing **_anything_ ** like this during my own research."

"Do I... have to start over now?"

His wings droop at the mere possibility that it all has been in vain, work painstakingly done no more than useless scrap. This type of attachment is an alien feeling to Lucifer - he doesn't quite understand, but he knows that, deep down, it whittles away at his resolve, right in the pit of his gut. It downright hurts. And if that wasn't enough, he doesn't want to know what his dear friend thinks of him for wasting his time and valuable assets for nothing. However, _little does the Supreme Primarch know that his worries are baseless._

"It would be a waste.", Lucilius begins, shaking his head, as he gently puts the splintered orb back into Lucifer's beaker, "A core can be purified by exposing it to heat, which would also mend its cracks." Cue a short pause and a loud yawn for such a dainty individual. "Tempering the mass aids potential instabilities and other ailments… though, you will have to wait for it to solidify again afterwards." 

"I see..." Cue an understanding nod from Lucifer, directing his attention back to his poor core for a moment, before glancing back at his still very drowsy creator. "Would you mind if I were to use your utensils now?"

"Not at all." A quick pause follows as Lucilius ruffles through the accursed mess that is his hair. "It would surprise me if you would be able to wake me merely by working."

"I shall do my best to keep quiet either way."

An ever subtle attempt at a smile is made before Lucifer decides to get back onto his feet, dusting off his pants and straightening his robes. It's hard to tell whether the Supreme Primarch is blissfully unaware or willfully ignorant of what his softened expression does to his creator, leaving the Astral behind with a soft red dusting his features. 

All he has eyes for is his wonderful little marvel of research, even if misshapen and cracked. 

The counters to the lab's walls are lined with different instruments made for Lucilius' line of work. Lucifer is quick to spot a gas burner amongst a mess of different glassware and books - he can only shake his head. Begrudgingly, he brings some order into the sheer disorder, setting the books aside where no harm could be done to them, cleaning out the glassware to his best abilities, and clearing a spot for himself. While putting a few flasks into a glass cabinet, he notices a stand with a ring clamp among other practical utensils and decides it to be _the_ thing for his undertaking.

Lucifer has seen Lucilius melt samples down with a gas burner before, so he's quick to assemble his workstation. With the burner lit, he moves his beaker held up by the stand over the flame. It doesn't take long for the cracked core to turn back into a goopy mass, hissing and bubbling as Lucifer stirs it gently - this time with a fire resistant and melt proof utensil since he learned from the spoon incident. Once all shards have dissolved properly, leaving no chunks in the gelatinous mass, Lucifer extinguishes the gas burner and allows the core mass to cool once more - well, at least to the point where he can touch the glassware without burning his fingers. 

Even after cooling, there's still warmth. Close to body temperature. It reminds him of the fact that this concoction is so, _so close_ to being alive, although it still appears to lack a functioning nervous system, organs, and most of its senses.

As quiet as a primal can possibly be, Lucifer sneaks his way past the bundle that is his sleeping friend. He's sure to give him a last glance, ensuring that he fell asleep again, before leaving the study.

Almost wistfully he gazes at the lustrous color of his core mass, twinkling in a warm brown hue. This little thing likely can't even fathom the troubles he's going through. _How long will it take this time?_ Lucifer's first failure was a blow to his confidence, but he knows better than to allow himself the luxury of faltering, not to mention backing down. Again, the fact that creating a primal is an elaborate test of patience is becoming more and more obvious.

But he would willingly wait an eternity and longer for this one core.

* * *

A sense of déjà vu befalls Lucifer when he awakens one morning to find the mass in his beaker solidified to an orb once more. Its surface is delightfully smooth and its color became a rich honey tone. Its curvature glimmers in the first rays of sun as Lucifer steps to his window, eager to inspect it in the light. Whereas Lucilius had found it to be rather cloudy last time, Lucifer can't see any of such impurities now. 

_It is perfect._

At this time of day, his creator usually spends time at his library, so the Supreme Primarch starts his search there… _and he seems to be in luck._ Several long tables line the large hall. Books upon books are scattered atop them, some opened, some stacked. Crumpled balls of parchment were seemingly kicked under the tables in a half-hearted way to get rid of them and a particularly unfortunate bunch of them was used to soak up a recent ink spill.

Seeing his dear friend leave a mess in his wake makes Lucifer's fingers itch - but he mustn't clean up after him. 

_Not yet, at least._

A few shelves away from his destination, the Supreme Primarch halts. An almost sickeningly sweet scent downright assaults his nose. _He grimaces._ The only thing worse than the scent itself is the fact that it's rather familiar, but he isn't able to put his finger on what this exactly is. However, that question is quickly answered once he takes a turn towards the source.

Lucifer is rather surprised to find his friend lounging about on a luxurious chaise longue - smoking from a long pipe. That would explain the insufferable smell. Lucilius doesn't seem to mind the unannounced visit… well, it doesn't seem like he's aware of Lucifer's company to begin with; staring into space as his lithe figure lies draped over the piece of furniture much like a wet rag, the Astral takes a drag from his pipe. Dark circles, _even darker than usual,_ marr his features. Lucifer knows well that Lucilius tends to favor his research over resting, _but now he actually looks like it, too._

It takes the Supreme Primarch several moments to gather the courage to speak up, "My sincerest apologies, my friend, but would you … would you look at my core again?"

No response follows. 

The Astral's movements are sluggish when he slowly sits upright, putting his pipe down on a small coffee table by the chaise longue. Both of his hands rub at his face, likely in a futile attempt to chase the unbearable amounts of fatigue upon his shoulders. Then, he pats next to himself on the fine furniture. 

Lucifer doesn't hesitate to sit down at Lucilius' side. His wings are pressed flush to his back for no more than a moment, only for them to drape around his dear friend's shoulders. The other is quick to take the beaker from his lap into his own, assessing the orb with a keen eye. Lucifer watches attentively, even leans in, as Lucilius wordlessly takes the orb into his palm, seemingly weighing it with his bare hand. 

"The coloration is better this time. _Such a vivid hue.",_ the Astral states, his tone as close to soft as it could ever get. 

Lucifer opens his mouth as to speak, to join his creator in singing praise to his little core, but - 

"The mantle should be firm.", he downright spits.

Fingers dig into the glittering mass. Digits pinch and pull, stretch it into a new form. Lucifer's breath hitches in his windpipe against his will. His throat closes up at the sight. _He failed again._

"This is pliable, as you can see."

Lucilius glances at him from the corner of his eye, his gaze bearing the venom of a viper. Potent and fast-acting. 

"Melt it down again." With a flick of his wrist, he drops the core mass back into its beaker, returns the glassware to Lucifer without any further comment. 

"I shall, my friend." Cue a moment of hesitation. "My apologies.", Lucifer repeats his apology from earlier, his eyes cast at the concoction that was supposed to be his great success. He shall read the studies again - perhaps he has been doing something wrong. He gets back onto his feet. Angelic composure aside, his knees still shake under his own weight. His own core thrums in a discordant tune. His chest aches horribly - something is hurting him and he doesn't understand. 

"Keep in mind that I didn't create you in a day.", Lucilius says when Lucifer already attempts to make his quick getaway, "Failure is an inevitable occurrence in research, _even in mine."_

The Supreme Primarch leaves without another word spoken. 

* * *

It would be a lie to say that Lucifer expected a near endless toil between researching and testing - naive and inexperienced in the ways of his creator as he is. 

He can't tell how often he tempered his poor core in the flames of a gas burner. Its color hasn't dulled, only growing more vivid over time, but retaining its shape? It appears like an impossible feat by this point. The mixture is too unstable for its own good. 

Time and time again, Lucifer returns to his creator to have him assess his core project, but to no avail. 

_It's misshapen._

_It splinters easily._

_It's too soft._

_The mantle has air bubbles._

The Supreme Primarch can't tell how often, how long, he has been despairing in his quarters after his most recent failure, but he figures that it has lasted for most of the day. 

Papers are spread out before him on the floor. His core sits among them, bubbling in its soiled glassware and seemingly unaware of the trials its creator is facing _because of its inability to follow established protocol._ It's rather involuntary when parchment is crumpled in his grasp as he was revising his studies. He doesn't understand what went wrong. Lucifer's teeth grit, his jaw aching with the pressure.

Deciphering his most recent recordings proves itself to be quite the task as the Supreme Primarch's handwriting had deteriorated over time; whereas his writings had resembled calligraphy before, it is now comparable to the scribbled musings that make up his creator's studies. Lucifer tries to read his most recent pages to his best abilities, but to no avail. _Hours of reading were for naught._

He finds himself completely unable to make sense of his own notes and to cap it all, his vision inexplicably blurs. Blotches appear on parchment, ink growing hazy under moisture. One of Lucifer's hands is brought up to his face with haste, thinking that there's something wrong, that there might be a fault in his design after all, only to find that his visage is damp and downright scorching hot. His body convulses against his will, a pitiful sound forced from his throat before it closes up. 

_Lucifer doesn't understand what's happening._

The papers are discarded without a second thought as the Primal frantically checks his form for possible injuries, even pressing his palm to the core in his side. It emits a discordant buzz and it frightens Lucifer. _What is wrong with him?_ Every frantic breath burns in his lungs and the primal finds himself shaking. Panic builds; _he can't see properly._ In a last ditch effort, he attempts to steady his breathing which only results in another choked noise. 

The primal doesn't want to give in to the ache in his chest, but in the end he does succumb to it - and he notices that it isn't so bad as it seemed. 

The rise and fall of his chest comes closer to normalcy with every additional inhale, although it remains shaky, his frame trembling. He dares to take a deep breath and his throat closes up with an involuntary sound once more - a _sob._

Lucifer is almost terrified to realize that this feels good, even if he feels absolutely awful at the same time. _A peculiar state._ Despite his status as a being with no equal, emotions are no more than a nebulous concept to him. Or _were,_ rather. No other task he faced prior to this had managed to leave him so fulfilled, yet frustrated. _An interesting experience,_ he notes in silence and begins to draw parallels between himself and his dear friend; Lucilius would document new discoveries right away. 

More tears wet his face when the primal finally accepts his fate, allowing himself to become a picture of utter misery as he kneels before his scattered research papers. Had his dear friend gone through something similar during his creation? Lucifer hopes that isn't the case, since he now fully understands what burdens this research brings with itself - not simply from a moral standpoint, seeing how much can go wrong even with the final specimen, but from an emotional one, too. 

Practically blinded by tears, Lucifer manages to get his hands on the beaker, albeit with great difficulty, and clutches onto it tight, holds it to his chest.

 _It's warm in his palms._ To feel such warmth tugs at the corners of his mouth ever slightly. Again, Lucifer reminds himself that this misshapen mass is already alive, even after he tempered it time and time again, lost several sets of utensils to its nonexistent, yet ferocious maw. 

_Not all has been for naught,_ Lucifer repeats to himself like mantra, even if frustration and pessimism make him think otherwise. 

Such is simply a part of the process. It takes more to ward him off. 

* * *

The sheer endless wait for results begins anew.

In order to go easy on his sanity for once and clear his head in the meantime, Lucifer had taken to finalizing his own studies which turned out to be shorter, yet just as dense as his creator's initial core-related research papers. He reprimands himself to write slower this time, so that he may read his own handwriting in the near future - or perhaps even future generations of primals and Astrals alike. 

His findings are nothing Lucilius hadn't discovered before him - _save for a few miniscule details._

The Astral's musings about core mass had mentioned an increased sensitivity to direct sunlight, which Lucifer can definitely confirm, considering how his attempts that included exposure to such ended with his core's mantle becoming brittle and breaking under featherlight touches. However, each time he had placed his core on a specific spot on his shelf where no sunlight would reach its beaker, the mantle wouldn't harden properly, if even at all.

With prior information in mind, Lucifer comes to the realization that he was missing a vital component all along: _warmth._

A remedy for such was found rather quickly, although it seems rather primitive compared to the biological marvel it is supposed to be a crutch for. Three layers of beasthide parchment were wrapped around the glassware to protect its fragile contents and ensure that no sunlight would disturb its development while still soaking up all the warmth the mass needs. In addition, Lucifer had draped a dense rag of black fabric over the top of the beaker in order to maximize the potential of his idea. The Supreme Primarch is aware that his creator has apparatuses in his possession that would aid this process in a much more efficient way… _but this is his specimen,_ **_his_ ** _alone._

Perhaps Lucilius' ways had begun to rub off on him, evident in his newfound eagerness and mild disdain for anyone who could potentially lead to an unfavorable outcome during his experiment; Lucifer finally understands why his dear friend is so keen on working on his own. Anyone else - _any clueless_ **_outsider_ ** \- wouldn't understand such hardships nor would they even be able to fathom his, no, _their_ intellect.

Thus, the glassware is left to its own devices on his window sill. Lucifer wants to return to working on his very own core thesis, but he halts in his tracks. To be quite honest, Lucifer has **enough** of his research papers - for the day, at least. _Such intense experiments and writing require rest,_ Lucilius told him on several occasions, but only now he fully understands that he didn't do so without good reason. Though primal beasts technically don't require sleep, it is still said to be a rather pleasurable experience for them. 

Already clad in comfortable robes, the Supreme Primarch decides to retreat for an hour or two, ungracefully flinging himself into his sheets and remaining face down before shifting into a more… _socially acceptable_ sleeping position with his gaze cast at the ceiling. 

Sleeping was never an easy task for him and it's even _worse_ at this time - all he can think of is his project. 

_What will they look like,_ he wonders. His friend had instructed him carefully on ways to alter the appearance of a primal beast while they're still in a less-than-bipedal-state, ranging from adding different ingredients as they are found in nature to breaking down cells into their bare essentials and mixing them into the concoction. However, his core mass is as volatile as it could ever be and Lucifer rather wouldn't start from scratch completely. Who knows what would become of it? A wrong dosage can kill the mass in a best case scenario and would horribly disfigure its host in a grim, more likely prediction. Lucifer wouldn't be able to forgive himself if that were to happen.

But their appearance aside, there's a different, more pressing issue the Supreme Primarch finds himself faced with: **_a name_ ** \- what will he name them? What if they don't like it? Should he allow them to name themself?

He doesn't know where to begin when it comes to naming his creation… in fact, he doesn't even get to form any further coherent thoughts on the matter. It's sudden when his eyes fall shut during the inklings of desperate attempts to think of a name. 

However, it is all over in the blink of an eye - _too soon to be considered slumber._

Lucifer can't help but frown as he twitches awake, lazily rubbing his eyes. Aside from the fact that he can't fall asleep easily, the primal also can't say that sleeping is a particularly nice thing - at least not to him. Lucilius always said it should be nice. _Oh, if only he could ask other primal beasts about their experiences,_ but sadly Lucifer's existence is still a lonesome one, being the first and most refined of them all. 

With his body still in the process of shaking its drowsiness, the primal rolls onto his side in a sluggish motion. He struggles to blow stray locks of hair out of his face since even the Supreme Primarch cannot arse himself to execute simple movements when he's tired. As he quietly scorns the light of what might be a new sunrise - he can't tell how long he slept, so that's his best bet - Lucifer pulls his covers higher, wraps them tighter around his form, and decides to let Canaan be Canaan for a while longer. 

Should someone need him, they know where to find his quarters (although he's partially aware that Lucilius has been doing his best to keep other Astrals away from him; _his research is more important than any concerns the high council could ever voice,_ he said). Closing his eyes, he's ready for another few hours of sleep. 

But before Lucifer can slip into slumber once more, a peculiar noise reaches him: a soft chime, bright and lively, followed by the sound of empty glassware rolling over solid ground. 

The realization takes a moment to set in. With eyes blown wide, Lucifer jolts into a sitting position. Immediately his head turns to his window sill, only to find it to be empty. Movement in the corner of his eye draws his attention to the stone floor. Tired as he is, his brain has to work hard to fully process the information his eyes supply. 

A soft chirping sound - almost comparable to the chirping of a bird, although worldly comparison won't ever suffice - can be heard as a little primarch core does its utmost to balance on the empty beaker with its prism shard, but slipping and causing the glassware to roll around on the tiles in circles. Two large golden rings encircle the core and its little brown wings flap with vigor as it appears to play with what used to be its home. 

Lucifer has to rub his eyes - once, then twice, even thrice. Had it finally worked? Was warmth _really_ the missing variable, the fault in his and ultimately Lucilius' research?

 _Primarch cores are still blind at this stage,_ he reminds himself, but there's still great caution in his movements as he gets out of bed and comes to kneel on the floor. The little being continues to push the beaker around, likely following the sound the glassware makes as it rolls about. Before it can make another attempt to balance on its newfound toy, Lucifer slips his palm under its prism and lifts it carefully. 

It reacts in the same way as Lucilius' core did when he allowed him to hold it: the core stills on his hand, but not without another chirping sound as its wings bristle. His gut feeling urges him to perform the necessary examinations to confirm his eventual success, but he hesitates. Lucifer doesn't want it to shatter once more. However, if a simple touch manages to cause damage, can this one really be considered a success? _He needs to do it._

His other hand shakes as he brings it close to the primarch core but doesn't dare to touch it yet. The being seems to be able to sense what is about to come; its feathers bristle more, followed by a sonorous chime. Lucifer stills in his tracks - and ends up lowering his hand again. It doesn't like this. Again, this is already a life form, even if at its most basic, that likely has boundaries and wishes and– perhaps he shouldn't think so hard on it. Lucilius once reprimanded him about his emotional attachment to his project and Lucifer understands his point. _Emotions get in the way of actions._

Another chirrup tears him from his thoughts. The being's wings had gone from resembling a pinecone to actively shielding their host's fragile mantle and the display manages to chip away at Lucifer's core.

Teeth find his lower lip as he looks away for a moment, attempts to wage the pros and cons of this situation against one another. If he doesn't examine _them,_ perhaps Lucilius will find a fault in their design which would likely end in another eternity worth of work going to waste. However, if Lucifer finds any instabilities or other worrying marks, he wouldn't be able to patch them up without almost starting from scratch once again.

A sigh heaves in his chest when he eventually settles for doing this himself. He just hopes that they won't be too mad at him once they gain the ability to do so. The primal reaches out for the core slowly once more. Their wings only tighten around their frail existence further as Lucifer tries to brush feathers aside and he feels even worse than he did already. Cue yet another chirp, but this time it sounds discordant; possibly an expression of fear or agitation. With all obstructions brushed aside, the orb begins to tremble when his fingers threaten to touch it.

"I know", he coos softly, "It's alright."

His hand encases the being's core with great caution. Their incessant shaking ceases more and more with each passing second. Lucifer finds himself enamored by his own work; the orb is geometrically perfect, its mantle having formed smooth curves. It twinkles in a strong amber hue. But most importantly, the core is warm, like a body would be. Lucifer can even feel an uneven pulse under his touch. 

A soft chime can be heard when the being eventually realizes that their creator means no harm, unfurling their wings and allowing Lucifer full access to their frail form. With nothing in the way, he notes the core's full size - his palm can barely encase it as it had grown to the size of a fist itself. _Impressive,_ he notes. None of Lucilius' records describe an exponential growth like this. 

Once he deems his assessment concluded, the Supreme Primarch releases the being from his grasp, which they thank him with yet another chirp. _Such a polite little thing._ As much as Lucifer wants to continue fawning over how delightful his success is, he **must** let his creator know that it all wasn't in vain. 

The being doesn't object to being lifted when Lucifer somehow manages to get back into his feet while balancing it on his open palm. The Supreme Primarch doesn't reconsider at all and quickly makes his way from his quarters, rushing past a few Astrals who can't keep their curious gazes to themselves. Cores in this advanced form are still a rarity, so he doesn't mind their badly concealed curiosity. With hurried steps, Lucifer follows stone paths through rich green plains once more. Lucilius will likely be at the laboratory again at this time of day, but he must get there quickly before his friend sinks into his work too deeply; at such times, the researcher is barely responsive to whatever one might throw at him (speaking both figuratively and literally). 

However, when Lucifer passes one of the pillar structures, he finds himself stopped in his tracks. A large cluster of mauve feathers hovers in the middle of the six pillars around it. Much more of it he cannot discern, thanks to the familiar pale figure, supporting themself with their imposing staff, seemingly examining it - _perhaps his prediction was wrong after all._ Quickly, he walks over to his dear friend, eager to show him his eventual success and tell him of the discoveries he made during this particularly taxing game of trial and error. 

"My friend!", Lucifer begins as he barely passes the border of pillars, "I have someone to introduce to you."

Perhaps it is his rose-tinted glasses and his affection for this being speaking, but the little entity on his palm appears to understand, chimes and chirps as they flap their wings in what might be the inklings of excitement. After all, they get to meet the one who had made their existence possible in the first place, _even before Lucifer._

The Astral turns to Lucifer without a word. The sight itself forces the primal to halt in his tracks, involuntarily clutching onto the prism shard of the primarch core. White stained in a wine red hue, as if something had splattered onto his robes. Some had even managed to hit his face. A gruesome picture to someone who hasn't really gotten in contact with such gore yet.

"Are you hurt, my friend?", Lucifer asks before his brain can make the conscious decision to do so. 

"The new cradle I was working on burst unexpectedly. _Wretched thing.",_ Lucilius responds in anger, venom-drenched words spat instead of spoken. "I was forced to stitch the egg sac and you can see what that has gotten me." A pause, a groan. The Astral struggles with his stained clothing, likely cladding his form uncomfortably. "Either way, would you like me to assess your core again? I see you **finally** managed to develop it properly."

Lucifer doesn't allow the jabs to get to him. Confident in his abilities as a researcher, he closes in on his creator and kneels down before him to allow the little core to tread on the ground. He has to assess their mobility as well after all.

"I already performed the first necessary examinations: they appear to be healthy. Their mantle has a wonderful coloration and it didn't shatter when I touched them. The wings are in great shape too.", Lucifer begins to explain. With a gentle pinch of two fingers he takes hold of a wing to stretch it for his creator's educated gaze. 

The silence doesn't unsettle Lucifer. He simply suspects that Lucilius is giving him room to present his own assessment.

"Though, I am unsure about their-"

 **"It's still unstable."** , Lucilius states, talking over Lucifer. "To think that you would present me with this failed experiment once more… _I had higher expectations for you, Lucifer."_

For a moment, the Supreme Primarch is completely dumb-founded, can only look up at his creator with wide eyes. Had he missed something? Was his project faulty after all? **_But what could it be?_ ** There were no cracks, the mantle isn't soft, the wings function properly, the primal reacts to outside stimuli. There is nothing about this primarch core that would give away any faults in their design.

"Apologies, my friend.", Lucifer begins, internally fumbling for a way out of this situation, "I shall take them to my quarters once more and assess them properly."

The expected response never comes.

Only an ear-shattering screech follows. 

The Astral's cane is thrusted forward, its pointed end piercing the core of the frail being Lucifer had so lovingly created and protected. Core mass splatters over the primal's form. The golden rings scatter into countless little particles of light, the wings attached to them following suit. Without their attachments, the fractured core can no longer sustain their proud posture, so it hits the ground with a loud clatter. A large shard splinters from the orb, revealing its liquid insides and allowing them to drip onto the pavement freely.

An agonized scream dies in Lucifer's throat at the sight. His frame shakes with every ounce of strength it can muster. Mortified, the primal can only look up at the disappointed expression of his creator, whose cold eyes manage to shake his resolve to its very foundation. 

"Try again."

_It was all in vain._

The Supreme Primarch knows that keeping his composure would be for the best in this situation, but the searing sting of hot tears in his eyes betrays how he feels about the destruction of his first - and now likely last - primalcraft project. His vision blurs to the point where he can no longer make out Lucilius' expression, rendering him useless in this situation; without a cue of any kind he doesn't know what would be the most appropriate things to say or do to avoid angering his creator. Even with this in mind, Lucifer is still blissfully unaware of the conditioning a master can implement in their beasts. He doesn't understand that this level of consideration with certain matters that concern his creator isn't normal. _Perhaps he doesn't want to understand._

"Start over.", Lucilius growls at him, "And do _not_ come back to me before your **new** specimen is in its final stages."

Lucifer sniffles, but nods in response. However, he didn't quite pay attention to the Astral's words, evident in the fact that he reaches for the shattered core before him to scoop it up in his palm. A hard jab of Lucilius' cane pins his hand to the pavement. Lucifer flinches, sobs. It wasn't hard enough to break bone, but the back of his palm still aches horribly. His wings bristle and he can barely stop them from curling protectively around his trembling form. 

"I did warn you of becoming attached to your work, Lucifer.", comes the hiss, "You were supposed to be immaculate, not a lowly beast that allows itself to be swayed by worldly affairs. And now you are even _disobeying_ me. I ask you - do you where this will get us?"

 _"Please,_ allow me to continue. I can fix them." The Supreme Primarch is surprised by how clearly and certain he manages to speak, considering that this is one of the few times he has witnessed his creator's not-so-merciful demeanor.

"It." A pause in silence, only to be interrupted by a pathetic whimper from the primal. " **_It,_ ** Lucifer.", Lucilius repeats and the pressure on Lucifer's hand increases, his fingers forced to splay over the stone flooring. 

**_"Please_ ** allow me to do so.", Lucifer pleads once more, his voice eventually breaking, "I - I would like... t - to present my results to you soon."

An uncomfortably long moment of silence follows.

"I should have monitored you more closely during your research.", his creator speaks anew and pays no heed to his desperate pleading, "This is beyond what your cortex should be capable of." Cue a pause. The cane on Lucifer's hand isn't withdrawn, instead it is twisted on his skin seemingly in thought, its coarse surface causing a burning sensation to flare up on the small spot. "Perhaps one of your limiters broke, so I shall work on adjustments. I will let you know when I can perform the procedure."

 _There is nothing wrong with me,_ Lucifer wants to say.

"Yes, my friend.", his voice responds without his volition.

The cane finally, _finally_ halts in its ruthless assault, revealing the burnt spot of skin the twisting had left. Even though there are still tears wetting the sides of his face, Lucifer's vision slowly clears again which allows him to gaze upon his creator's cold visage once more. His gaze is unwavering, beyond ruthless. Something buds at the primal's hip - a weird sensation from his core that spreads to his gut and causes bile to seethe at its pit. _Betrayal,_ Lucifer finds, _isn't a nice thing to feel._ It doesn't sting like gloom does. Instead, it burns, much like the mark on his hand.

"Are you aware that your neutrality is faltering?", Lucilius eventually says, "A bias will get in the way of your task - _your_ _calling."_

"If a primal is more than a simple beast, then why are you treating me as such?" Words are bitten forth, dripping in venom - similarly to how Lucilius speaks in anger. On the inside Lucifer is terrified that these things are simply tumbling from his lips and that he allows it. He is speaking out of line, _he knows that,_ but he feels safe; Lucilius would never discard his magnum opus, even if it had gained the ability to talk back. "Why _wouldn't_ you trust my judgement?"

Deafening silence. A twitch of Lucilius' brow. More silence. It surprises him that his creator seems to be dumbfounded, _speechless, even._ The Astral probably didn't expect him to argue. 

"Such affections - they cloud your perception.", he eventually replies after another moment in thought. 

Well, he _is_ right about that. Lucifer recalls his first bunch of failed attempts where he was so smitten with his little core that he didn't notice how misshapen its mantle or discolored it was. However, something bugs him about this - shouldn't Lucilius feel the same about their friendship?

"I understand.", Lucifer responds dryly, unwilling to bend to his creator's whim, "May I receive permission to continue my research?" 

A scoff from Lucilius. "Give me a reason."

"The materials that I used would go to waste, should I choose to discard the core this far into _their_ development.", comes the steadfast response; it doesn't even come close to a desperate way out of this, bears truth in its meaning. It **would** be a waste of precious materials. "I wish to finish what I started."

A moment is spent in thought, Lucilius' wooden cane being tapped on the ground as he appears to carefully consider the odds. Lucifer doesn't know what there could be to think so hard about. The situation is pretty clear to him. 

"I shall permit it.", Lucilius begins, "However, there is one condition."

"Do tell, my friend."

"This is your first _and_ **last** primalcraft project."

Lucifer doesn't respond. Instead, he reaches for the shattered core once more - which earns him another jab of Lucilius' cane. A yelp breaks out of him as his hand is pinned to the pavement again, causing his brows to furrow as he grits his teeth. 

"Do you agree to this?", his creator downright jeers, putting some more pressure on his cane by leaning onto it just a bit. 

"I do.", Lucifer bites forth. 

Anger buds within him, clouding his judgement more than his affection for the core ever could. He doesn't notice the deeply disappointed look on the Astral's face. He can barely fathom such disappointment when all he ever heard was praise and other almost bittersweet affections. 

"Pick up your mess before you leave." 

This time Lucifer scoffs. _If you'd let me, I would do so._

It feels like a miracle when the Astral releases his hand anew and actually allows him to pick up the poor thing. The liquid's that poured from their midst have dried by now, sticking to Lucifer's hands as he carefully examines the fractured bits. This seems hopeless at first glance, but there is something, _a sign of life;_ a gentle pulse, albeit quiet - _but it's there._

Lucifer is overjoyed, though he doesn't allow his expression to betray such. This _incident,_ it definitely has led him to be rather conflicted about his dear friend. _His trust and patience have their limits._ He will **have** to vent in the shape of angered writings at his quarters later today. Lucifer stands up once more as he gently cradles the shattered being in his palms, his gaze not leaving Lucilius' pale and bloodied form before him. It hurts to realize that he no longer sees the Astral in the same light as he did before. His stone-cold demeanor discomforts him greatly, but he must remain steadfast in his decision.

"I will return and present my results.", he says eventually and wants to leave quickly, so he can take care of the little core as soon as possible.

_"One last thing."_

His creator's voice causes Lucifer to halt in his tracks, his movements rigid when he turns to him for hopefully the last time that day. Much to his surprise, the Astral's stare seems to soften ever slightly, resembling the Lucilius he knows once more. However, after this day, it won't be the same ever again, always leaving a bitter taste in the Supreme Primarch's mouth.

"The next steps in my project could be vital to your own research, so I would like to _invite_ you to follow them - by my side.", the Astral begins to speak, "The cradle is very close to the crowning phase."

"I would enjoy that.", comes the short response without a subtle smile or anything else and thus, the Supreme Primarch takes his leave with ungainly haste. 

To be honest, Lucifer **doesn't** want to be there when this primal quite literally falls into their new life, but he wouldn't be able to deny the offer anyway… unless he wants to enjoy an Astral's grudge for the rest of his immortal life and longer, that is.

* * *

Slowly unveiling the secrets of the art of primalcraft was something that happened over time, something that Lucifer did while (mostly) gleefully stumbling through his creator's research, but fixing a core? Since Lucilius would keep asking him to allow the core to reshape, Lucifer isn't sure if one can even fix a complex life form as this one. It's not like he has many options either; _Lucilius refuses to give him any further advice._

And thus, the only option Lucifer has is doing his own research. 

The primal writes and writes, many a thesis born from his quill, but none of them seem probable. As Lucilius had said, his actions are restricted by attachment and other worldly things, but it doesn't make sense. Since the very day he fell from his cradle, Lucifer learned about Astrals and soon came to the realization that his dear friend doesn't represent their sentiments at all. An outsider, _a black sheep in the herd,_ is what they see him as. Most Astrals aren't as cold and calculating as his creator. Lucifer is sure that other researchers would be deeply fascinated by the fact that he feels and expresses himself just as they do. 

Bitterness causes bile to seethe in his stomach, rise into his throat ever slowly. A grimace twists his expression at the sensation of such, quickly deeming this feeling a bad one too… However, it does give him an idea.

Perhaps _beast bile_ is what he needs to fix the core. From what Lucilius' research papers told him, the bile is the key component in core forgery, as it is what binds quartz and prism to another, causing a reaction that leads to the mass becoming a core in the first place. Perhaps one could use a few drops of bile like glue to connect the splinter to the core's mantle. His quill scrapes over parchment in haste as if he is afraid that the thought might slip from him in a moment's notice. _But the first problem already unveils itself to him._

Now, how does one get access to Lucilius' basement without asking him for it? The Astral's extensive stock of materials isn't heavily guarded, _he'd be surprised if even at all,_ because no one wants to deal with the consequences of Lucilius' sometimes explosive temper in the first place. On the other hand, entering without asking might be the obvious but easy solution to this, since Lucifer is aware of its two entrances, located within Lucilius' quarters and the library. _He does have access to the library._ But that's not how Lucifer as an individual works. _Either he asks, or he doesn't act at all._

His stomach gurgles at him, almost as if it tries to remind him that there is also a less favorable, _more disgusting_ way of going about this. As a primal **beast,** he _should_ be able to extract the bile from himself. Although Lucilius seems to make use of basic metaphors when naming certain discoveries, the primalcraft studies described it as _digestive juices,_ which leaves no hope for it to be something else.

Lucifer physically recoils, shakes his head at the fact that he actually considers this. Then again, if Lucilius were to deny him access, what choice does he have? Another potential possibility is to harvest the bile from a beast found in nature, but Lucifer doesn't plan on harming an innocent creature in the pursuit of knowledge. He notes the two more likely options quickly, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as he writes. _Hopefully, it won't come down to the animal-friendly modus operandi._

A soft chirp tears him from his thoughts, drawing his attention elsewhere. Lucifer had to return the beaker to Lucilius' laboratory eventually, leaving him without a suitable way to contain the little being he so meticulously crafted. So, while looking upon a stack of unwashed dishes in his quarters, the primal had an idea - a bowl shall suffice as a vessel for now (after washing it out first, of course). 

Even though gravely damaged, the core moves about to the best of their abilities, rolling around in their bowl. The splinter that had broken from their mantle rests on a small handkerchief next to the porcelain dish, lying in wait for eventual mendings. The mere thought that he might be able to make them whole once more manages to soothe Lucifer's battered nerves and he decides to put down his quill for a moment. Perhaps he was too pessimistic before; his efforts are far from being in vain. 

As gentle as one could possibly be, he scoops the being from their vessel, cradles them in his palms with care that his own creator would never be able to muster. It still hurts to think about - Lucilius revealed his real disposition to Lucifer, leading him to believe that the Astral is _far_ from the idealized assumptions he made about him prior. The truth hurts. He knows that now. The core hums in his grasp, the low tone gaining volume when Lucifer holds the little thing close to his chest. However, it isn't quite enough to distract him this time. Merely thinking about this causes his innards to churn once more, but in a different manner. 

Lucifer cannot classify the sensation properly, though it definitely isn't disgust - at least not solely. _Betrayal_ is a putrid combination of many, many emotions, he learns and quickly deems it an awful thing to experience. The primal learned a lot about the inner workings a creature can experience and he would rather forget a good majority of his newly attained wisdom again.

A rather sharp chiming sound draws his attention from his less than favorable thought processes. The being seems to sense his inner turmoil, likely disturbed by the mess of strong emotions. In a tender gesture, Lucifer brushes along the curve of their core as to calm them before returning them into their temporary vessel. 

He _needs_ to get back to his research. 

But just as Lucifer gets back into the mindset to refine his frenzied musings, a knock on the door to his living quarters can be heard. 

_What could anyone want from him at this hour?_

A subtle frown curls the corners of his lips, albeit for a mere moment, and he begins to speak, _"Come in."_

The heavy wooden door opens by a mere crack and it stays that way for a few seconds, his visitor seemingly afraid of coming in. Though soon enough the youthful visage of an Astral comes into view - _Esther,_ if he remembers correctly. One of Lucilius' former apprentices. 

"Oh - my apologies.", they begin as they eventually enter his quarters and close the door behind them, "I didn't mean to disturb your studies."

Lucifer's demeanor softens quickly at their polite tone. They were no more than a fleeting acquaintance to him, yet the primal found their presence comforting. He didn't know what it was back then, but now Lucifer can say that he likes them. 

"I don't mind.", Lucifer responds and rises from his seat to turn towards them, "I was in need of a break anyway. What can I do for you?" 

"Master Lucilius asked for you.", comes the quick and frankly dissatisfying reply. "I was on my way from the alchemy complex and he… well, he… _convinced_ me to delay something."

What follows is a pause born from discomfort that goes both ways - both know that this is just a way of saying that Lucilius _made_ them. 

"He wants you to join him at the primal pikes by the development labs as soon as possible. It's urgent."

 _Primal pikes?_ So that's what Lucilius decided to name those pillars. Lucifer can't say he likes it. However, his personal disdain aside, this doesn't sound good, even if there isn't much to this simple request for his company. Might be the sense of impending doom that is currently stirring up his innards. But on the other hand, his newfound research-obsessed self perked up in the slightest bit at the mention of _alchemy_ just now _._ Esther is the apprentice of an alchemy specialist, having access to various facilities, not to mention that they possess the knowledge of how to create high quality samples. **_Perhaps–_ **

"I don't think Master Lucilius would take kindly to the fact that I held you up longer than necessary, so I–", Esther continues with nervosity in their voice.

But they're cut off by Lucifer, "I shall join him in a moment, but first… I hope you don't mind me asking for a favor. Considering the matter, I would say there is no better candidate to assist me."

He feels awful for doing this already, trying to get them hooked on his favor by using their passion against them and showering them in half-hearted praise. The way their eyes light up, joined by a subtle red hue painting their otherwise pale visage, only makes him feel worse.

A pause follows in which Esther appears to struggle to keep their demeanor in sight of such praise, especially from the Supreme Primarch. 

"I don't know if I can help you in the way you might envision, but do tell."

He can't help but notice that Esther's shoulders tense visibly, likely at the fact that someone of his status expects something from them. 

"My matters don't call for much - a vial of beast bile. No more, no less.", Lucifer tells them as requested. 

Right away, it seems that whatever tension had befallen them vanishes as quick as it came. 

"You're in luck. Master Aurelio tasked me with distilling a large batch of bile.", Esther says and quickly fumbles for the large leather bag hanging heavy from their shoulder. Its precious contents are secured by a weighted flap with a lock mechanism, which they struggle to open at first. Once open, the weighted flap is lifted to reveal more than thirty vials, each of them safe within their own little compartment. 

"Does it matter if it's a reptilian or mammalian sample?", they ask. 

_"Does it?",_ Lucifer promptly replies with another question, although more directed at himself. He is no longer sure what type of sample he initially used for his core, likely due to the fact that Lucilius didn't bother to label such specifics either. _Well, does it?_

"The type of catalyst used affects the physiology and development in a saline solution.", Esther blurts out, but quickly corrects themself, _"Of a homunculus._ I-if you were to work on a homunculus project, that is."

"Mammalian seems like a good option, then."

Right away, Esther begins to rummage around in their bag, quickly pulling up each vial just enough to check its label and dropping it in an equally hasty manner when it doesn't match Lucifer's request, until they find one that does. 

A thin vial, filled with a bright yellow liquid, is eventually offered to him, together with a bright-eyed Esther, who still seems honored that the great Supreme Primarch asked _them_ for help. However, all prior guilt is already forgotten because Lucifer gets to hold the solution to his problem in his very hands. 

"If you're in need of assistance when it comes to samples, feel free to ask me! Master Aurelio has an extensive array of samples and studies that could be useful for your future projects.", Esther states while they close their leather bag once more. 

"I shall.", Lucifer begins, "But I think we should get going now - to return to our respective masters."

"Oh?" Cue a pause, a curious head tilt from Esther, before they remember that they were here for a different reason than to help Lucifer. "Oh, right! Lucilius. Yes. My apologies."

And with that, they take their hasty leave, at first as quiet as astrally possible but once the door is closed, their hurried steps echo through the hallway beyond Lucifer's quarters. Hopefully they won't get in trouble for wasting time and "losing" a sample. Speaking of which, Lucifer finds himself gazing at the vial in his hand with a hopeful demeanor. This best be what he needs to fix his first and only primal core. 

But for now, this has to wait. 

Lucifer stores the precious sample in a drawer of his desk for now and spreads a rag over the rim of the bowl to shield the core from the first rays of the upcoming sunrise. These are truly ungodly hours. A yawn fights itself from Lucifer's throat and he stretches as a strange sense of fatigue befalls him. Though, the quick glance at his full body mirror across the room is what really does him in: he looks like utter shit. 

Still dressed in his sleeping garments that he didn't get to use in the intended way, because sleep didn't come to him, Lucifer can only look upon himself in mild disgust and self-pity (he certainly isn't going to change, though). His generally disheveled appearance aside, his wings are also in a state of complete disarray, so much that he'd rather hide them for the day. A moment of consideration passes, but by the time it's over, his wings have already disappeared into his back. Even though he had been aware of his apparent similarities to Lucilius prior to this, seeing it like this is… something else. Aside from Lucifer's tender gaze and their height difference, they are _identical._

He would be able to muse about this curious discovery and its possible meanings for hours on end, but thinking about Lucilius reminds him that there are more pressing matters at hand. _Lest Esther gets in trouble._

And thus, he leaves his quarters with haste, making his way to the primal pikes the apprentice had mentioned. 

Lucifer is greeted with an unusual sight right away - screens of thick cloth surround the structure, shielding whatever goes on within from curious gazes (then again, who in their right mind would be up right now?). He can't tell if that's a good or a bad thing… knowing Lucilius, likely the latter. He can't see the Astral outside, so he reluctantly goes for a shielded gap in the circle of screens, carefully squeezing inside. 

Well, as it is with many things that have to do with his creator, he doesn't truly know if he should have done that before mentally preparing himself. 

His gaze is fixated on a steadily growing trickle of mucus on the ground, his brain unable to classify the secretion. His eyes are quick to follow the trail upwards, further up, until he knows what he's looking at: Lucilius' cradle has burst but not due to a flaw - the birth of a new primal is upon them. Possibly a cause for celebration, though the Supreme Primarch has more than a few worries on his mind. The cradle's rings quiver, the entire structure growing more unstable with each passing second, but the primal has no time to thoroughly observe the happenings. 

_"Lucifer."_

The primal finds himself unable to take his eyes off the cradle when he responds, "Yes?" 

A pause follows. Lucifer can imagine the self-satisfied demeanor Lucilius likely wears, but how could one not be astonished, terrified and fascinated at the same time in sight of… _well, whatever this is._ After seeing the countless reports of failed attempts and witnessing one himself long ago, the Supreme Primarch prefers to avoid the word "miracle". Perhaps it was his own research and the unpleasant conflict with his creator that turned him so cynical.

"Seeing as your previous attempt had failed, I would like to show you the result of my own labor. As an incentive.", the Astral speaks to him and Lucifer is already considering an "in through one ear, out through the other" type of approach. 

"Much time will pass until I reach this stage, I presume.", he responds as he joins his creator's side while he seems to take notes about the state of the cradle. Surely, there's a snide remark about to come; Lucifer has gotten used to it.

But no such thing. Instead, Lucilius stills in his tracks, seemingly in a brief moment of thought. Cue a look from the corner of his eye, before he continues with his writings.

"You have all the time you could ever need to perfect your specimen.", Lucilius speaks, his tone too close to gentle and kind for comfort, almost too good to be true, "As I said before, I didn't create you in a day either."

Lucifer feels strange; his chest aches, stomach turning. There is still a small fragment of him that wants to enjoy such words of encouragement - but the mental image of the shattered core quickly remedies that. All that's left is a seething type of bitterness, tempered over time. If Lucilius is an Astral of his word, perhaps he should allow him to grow as a researcher, give constructive criticism for the details that still lack refinement, instead of practically forcing him to go through such an arduous procedure again. 

"I am aware of that.", the primal responds firmly after a lengthy pause. And Lucifer leaves it at that, though he can't keep a cold glare to himself, one equivalent to the bite of an adder in force, _but twice as deadly._ More will be necessary to mend their bond than a few lukewarm words. 

For once, his creator doesn't seem willing to retort anything at all. Well, maybe he would have, if they both hadn't been alerted by disgustingly wet crunching sounds. 

The cradle above appears to strain, feathers bulging under the force of a newborn primal (or soon-to-be-born, rather) as they already seem to struggle against the now unnecessary tissue surrounding them. A last push, then they still once more, though the cradle takes longer to return to its initial shape. 

Lucifer grimaces. Now, he did read the cradle papers briefly. He knows of this process that awaits a primal before they can walk freely. But no words could describe the disgusting array of noises assaulting his ears and the scent of various bodily fluids mixed together filling his nostrils. Thinking about it only makes it worse, forcing a gag out of Lucifer. 

The ever cold Lucilius can't keep a chuckle to himself. "It may be a putrid sight, but this is a good sign."

Lucifer wants to respond, but finds himself cut off by the primal beginning to struggle once more, this time focusing on the crack that's leaking all the mucus. Two black claws eagerly pull at the membrane and - wait, claws? 

"Are those-" 

Lucifer looks over to Lucilius, who seems equally surprised, without finishing his sentence. The researcher goes pale before his very eyes. Surely, the early draft he made did not include talons. No time is wasted as the Astral takes his cane and thrusts its pointed end into the cradle to widen the opening on its underside; without much hesitation or fear to hurt the primal at that. The small trickle of mucus quickly turns into a large stream, which is enough to make Lucifer take a few steps back. Just as a precaution. Streaks of blood have mixed into the once clear fluid, but there's something else that catches his attention: feathers in a soft lilac hue. 

However, their number worries him - _there are too many,_ downs and flight feathers alike among them. With Lucilius' help, the primal continues their struggle and the cradle bulges once more, this time as if the poor thing inside is already spreading their wings in a desperate attempt to break free.

The fact there's sweat building on Lucilius' brow as he does his best to assist the newborn during the first and likely most exhausting task of their young life leaves little room for optimism. Something definitely went awry and Lucifer can't help, _doesn't trust himself to,_ considering how most of his own project went. The researcher tries to widen the cut in the thick membrane even further, but struggles as much as the primal does. 

Again, the talons resurface from within the cocoon and tear at the unyielding obstacle in their way, but they finally make progress this time. Another pair of claws joins what might be its counterpart and together they grip the edges of the opening. Then, the cradle bulges unlike it did before as the primal successfully opens it with the help of their mighty wingspan, falling head first into existence - and the stone flooring. Their cradle, now having served its purpose, begins to disintegrate. Its large rings hit the ground with clattering before they crumble to gold dust. The feathered outer shell breaks apart and the insides (that come close to placenta in looks and disgust factor) spill onto the floor and the poor primal who already seems like they had enough of this. 

A soft keen is the first thing Lucifer hears from them, followed by loud gagging and coughing. They have brown hair, but he only manages to make a fleeting observation of their appearance because something else distracts him: their six wings are only half-feathered, with even more falling out as they stretch them. And the skin they reveal underneath - Lucifer never would've thought to find so intricate markings on _wyvern wings._ A swirled pattern adorns the thick black skin and it appears that some swirls are less translucent than others, making them more prominent when held against the light. The Supreme Primarch finds himself so enamored by something so simple, that he doesn't notice Lucilius reaching the end of his wits. 

With a rough grip, the Astral takes hold of the newborn primal's wing with one hand and forces it to spread with the other. Right away Lucifer notices the pair of wing talons that protest such intrusive touches, trying to claw at Lucilius' grasp. _So that's what those are._

"Is this not what you envisioned them?", Lucifer asks, though the answer should be obvious considering how Lucilius seems _very_ close to losing it. 

"No.", comes the unsatisfying but truthful reply, "I didn't alter the materials at all. I don't understand." Though usually deadpan, his voice now bears pure anger. "It was supposed to be like you. _At least the wings."_

Lucifer prefers to just not unpack that statement and glosses right over it. "What name did you have in mind?"

The researcher ponders for a moment, jaw clenching with teeth gritting so loud that Lucifer can hear it. Then, he lets go of the wing, which the other primal seems to appreciate, quickly folding their wings to keep them safe from further inspection. 

"I'll have to reconsider.", Lucilius responds firmly. 

_Fair,_ Lucifer thinks to himself and decides to stop talking for the rest of this encounter so that he may be spared of another outburst (he still hasn't recovered from the last one, nor did his core). Instead, he sets his mind on greeting the new member amidst their rows. He wishes Lucilius had prepared a towel or maybe even robes for them, because they're naked aside from the putrid afterbirth and their own feathers cladding their form. 

With great caution, he kneels before the primal who looks at him with curiosity in their gaze. He can't help but notice that they've begun to shake horribly. What stands out when it comes to their features are their piercing red eyes with slanted pupils, which manage to make something as mundane as eye contact feel deeply intimidating. Though graced with sharp features and likely equally sharp wits to match, they seem rather mellow. Then again, Lucifer isn't sure if any primal would be capable of hostility barely after birth. 

Since Lucifer lacks the right words to say - what can one even say in this kind of situation - he simply extends his hand to them, offering them help to get up. And they seem willing to accept such, but… 

"Don't touch it.", Lucilius says, seemingly not having been aware of the situation prior since he was busy writing something down. 

The Supreme Primarch can already feel his patience dwindling. Teeth grit as his jaw grinds. The primal before him shrinks in their spot, likely sensing the anger seething in his stomach. 

**"Lucilius,** I just want to help them up.", Lucifer snaps at his creator, teeth bared in a quick snarl, but he doesn't stop there, "They're cold. Robes for them would've been nice, don't you think?"

The Astral is stumped at such disobedience from his prized creation that he almost drops his quill in utter shock. But the Supreme Primarch pays no mind to that, gently takes the other primal by their arms to get them onto their feet, although that proves itself to be more difficult than he anticipated. Their legs tremble harshly, still unable to support their weight fully. Lucifer allows them to lean into him while they get used to standing, which they seem to appreciate, _if loud purring is anything to go by._

"You do realize that I was serious about the core procedure, right?", Lucilius eventually asks, his tone nothing short of enraged, though his expression doesn't betray his foul mood. 

"If compassion is a reason for you to alter me, then so be it." 

When it hasn't been clear before, it certainly is now: the remains of their friendship are beyond salvageable. The same hues of icy blue are clashing as they stare daggers at one another, neither of them willing to yield. _And Lucifer withstands it_ \- he wouldn't have been able to do so before the start of his research project. There are many, many things he has to say to Lucilius, none of them nice. Fingers dig into his forearms as the newborn primal grows more and more uncomfortable with each passing second. Lucifer understands. He's going to apologize later. 

"Do you not see what this is doing to you?", Lucilius asks once more after a short pause, but this time his tone bears desperation. "Core instability can still affect you, even at your current stage."

 **_Oh, now he cares._ ** Lucifer sneers, usually so soft and tender features turned into a truly gruesome expression. "That's a fault in your design, **_not mine.",_ ** he responds, pure hatred threatening to spill from his still angelic tone, "I enjoy this." A gesture to his chest. "I prefer it to being a mere means to an end. "

The other primal, eventually feeling a bit more confident in standing, moves to Lucifer's side so that they're no longer in the line of emotionally charged fire. A lot has accumulated over the past weeks and the Supreme Primarch has finally had enough. His last statement in particular seems to cause damage on Lucilius' stone-cold demeanor; cue a flinch, followed by a defeated huff. It takes a moment until the Astral manages to gather himself, his cold demeanor replaced by something softer, almost somber. 

"Do not speak ill of matters you have no notice of.", Lucilius responds and Lucifer thinks he heard his voice crack but he can't be sure because the anger at the pit of his stomach is threatening to take over. 

"How am I supposed to if you don't speak to me?" All he knows of his purpose is that he oversees the mortal realm, but what for? What reason could the annual reports have? His questions may never receive an answer.

"Lucifer, you-" 

The Astral seems willing to say something on the matter, perhaps even explain himself for once, though his creation has different ideas. Too much has built up over too long, so, seeking the nearest available outlet for his emotional peril, the primal takes the opportunity to its fullest and _vents_ to his former friend. He's fully aware that he's about to seem like a rambling madman to any outsider, bringing things up that aren't even related to this situation. 

"I trusted you!", comes the angered howl before he takes hold of the front of Lucilius' robes so hard that his fingers turn white, "Why can't you speak openly to me?!" A short pause, filled with shallow panting as Lucifer does his best to catch his breath. "I've kept quiet about this for long enough. If you do not explain yourself within the next few minutes, I'm ending this here."

Lucilius can only look at him with his eyes blown wide, finding himself at an utter loss for words. The somber look on his face makes way for the classic cold expression and Lucifer has to stop himself from wiping it off his face. A lack of reaction is only making this worse and the primal realizes that this is something that has bothered him about his creator ever since he gained consciousness. No reactions worth mentioning come from him, and if there are, they're usually negative. 

"I can't.", the Astral says, "Not fully."

Lucifer doesn't say a word at first. He lets go of the other's robes, has to fight tooth and nail to hold back tears. Why can't he speak to him? Isn't that what companions do? Speak about their issues to one another? He never wanted to reach this conclusion, put it off as long as possible, but perhaps they never were good friends to begin with. 

"I see.", Lucifer responds and leaves the scene as if he had just committed the most heinous crime in the sky realm. 

* * *

The bristles of a broom scrape over the floor of his living quarters loudly. Feathers are being swept up into a neat little pile. Flight feathers, downs, all kinds of them. And they're all pure white. Lucifer huffs at the sight of it, wings twitching as he grows painfully aware of the bald patches that had formed on his mighty pinions. 

Whether he's stress-molting or if he tore them out himself he can no longer recall. _Perhaps both._ The last few hours are a blur, time yet again spent with revising his studies for the nth time and maybe some crying during a quick break. Whereas he found crying to be downright therapeutic before, Lucifer is terrified to notice that it no longer has the same effect, as if it's no longer enough to soothe his state of mind. 

Something forlorn lies in his gaze as he looks over to the bowl with the little core still spinning within the vessel, the large splinter still missing from their mantle. He hasn't dared to touch them just yet, already stopped at the mere thought of taking the bile from his drawer. All he did was prepare the necessary utensils like a brush and gloves, glassware in case he needs such, even water to dilute the bile - _all that._ However, now that he went as far as scorning his creator who isn't known for his kind and forgiving nature simply to continue his work, he has to finish what he started.

Lucifer attempts to waste as much time as possible with sweeping up the remaining feathers and depositing the pile into the trashcan by his desk before he eventually sits down. The gloves are put on with haste, but not without difficulties thanks to his sweaty hands. As gently as possible, he takes the core from their bowl which earns him a loud chime in disapproval. Had he been in a better mood, Lucifer would have spoken to them gently, that everything is going to be fine, but there's method to his almost rigid movements as he takes the last steps in preparation. The vial is taken from his drawer, its contents poured into the small glass of water before he stirs the mixture with his brush. 

Although he conducted extensive research, the primal still lacks the most basic set of skills when it comes to alchemy, so this was really his best guess on how to handle this procedure. The little core pulses in his grasp, chirping in anger once more, when he gently applies a generous coat of the diluted bile on their broken mantle. It takes only a few strokes of his brush for the hard surface to soften, so Lucifer reminds himself to use less pressure. Once the jagged edges have rounded, he pushes the shard into its old place and applies another coat of the wretched tincture to fill in the cracks on the outside. This entire process is completed rather unceremoniously and so quickly that Lucifer doesn't even notice that his rather half-hearted attempt at mending the core yields great results.

The mantle's surface is impossibly smooth once more without any trace of damage to be seen - _a full success._

Not paying heed to it any longer than necessary, Lucifer sets the core back into their vessel, opens the window and simply throws the diluted bile along the brush and the glass it's in out into the courtyard of the living complex before throwing himself face first into bed. At first he doesn't realize that he hasn't taken off his gloves yet, but soon quickly remedies that by simply tearing them off his hands and dropping the shreds of latex on the floor. 

Lucilius' decision to deny him any further primalcraft projects is a wise one; he doesn't want to see a single scientific thesis ever again, no matter how long his sheer endless lifespan may last. _No way, no how._

By the time a puzzled resident notices the spilled bile and shattered glass in the yard and loudly protests the putrid stench, Lucifer has already slipped into an aggression nap, remaining face down for the entire duration of it. Sleep is still a touchy subject with him; sometimes it is an effortless feat just like this, only requiring him to lay down in order to downright pass out, but it is far more common for him to simply scorn sleep since it often feels like he needs to perform an entire exercise regimen before slumber comes to him.

The nap is unsatisfying as usual, although his awakening is different: a chirp forces him to jolt up. 

His quick movements are seemingly deemed unwelcome, which earns him the soft swat of a wing. It takes him his entire willpower to not hit back, but all desire to do so vanished right away when he notices what _exactly_ hit him. The little primarch core has regained their wings, now floating at the edge of his bed. They were probably just minding their business and accidentally woke him up. With slumber still weighing him down, Lucifer has trouble fully grasping the situation and reacting accordingly, but mentally he is already taking notes for the next few steps. 

  
_Seems like he'll have to find himself a nice set of pikes for his primal sooner than anticipated._

* * *

Time is no more than a nebulous concept, so Lucifer finds himself surprised by the number of pikes that were built all over Canaan by now. Lucilius' methods are questionable at best, but he definitely knows how to get what he wants. All these permits, resources, funds, and even the workforce were supplied by the Astral high council. It puts a sour taste on his tongue, but Lucifer does his best to suppress his bad mood for now, because there are more important matters at hand.

Held tight under his arm is a wooden crate, loud chirping and chiming coming from it as the core within complains about being confined in such a small space. Lucifer deeply regrets putting them into such a tight space, but he had no other means to transport them with available... and asking Lucilius for a larger crate wasn't an option in the first place. Thus, they will have to hold out in their current vessel as Lucifer is about to make an important decision: _picking a location for the last phase of his project._

Of course, any primal pikes will do, although he has the well-being and comfort of the primarch core in mind. Too much sun is detrimental, but so is too little as it would stunt their development. And the view - they may have no eyes yet, but a quiet little spot near a grove of trees might be to their liking once they do. Though his standards seem quite high at first, his search for _the_ spot doesn't last long. 

This particular set of pikes was erected close to the botanical garden, harboring plants from Estalucia and the mortal realm alike (his favourite being the so-called "coffee bush"). Adjacent to it lies a spacey meadow, completely untouched by Astrals… which is the most important element to him. He needs peace and quiet for this and so does certainly his core.

_Lucifer wants no one near his project._

As he studies the pillars for structural weaknesses or other flaws, the Supreme Primarch is already envisioning how this will look once he's done with preparations. He'll make sure to get himself some of those large fabric screens Lucilius used to ensure a more acceptable level of privacy for the specimen - _but also himself._

Yes, he plans on staying here throughout the last phase of development. Lucifer's past mistakes were caused by his own carelessness and he believes that this might be the only way to prevent any further mishaps that would lead to defects or perhaps even the death of the primal. _It's all or nothing._

He sets the crate down by one of the pillars with great care. The sunlight warms his form as he stands within the structure and gazes out into the vast grassy plains of Canaan, the view adorned by Astral architecture and beautiful gardens. His chest swells at the sight.

_Yes, this spot is indeed perfect._

Perhaps this journey does have its good sides. Lucifer doubts that his self from months ago would be able to appreciate something as simple as this the same way as he is right at this moment. He spends another minute simply watching Astrals follow winding paths in little chattering troops, before he diverts his attention back to the wooden crate. The little being buzzes loudly within - as if he had trapped a swarm of bees - and occasionally chirps to accentuate their distaste further.

A soft sigh leaves him while he carefully opens the crate at the top. To his surprise, the primal core doesn't rush out like Lucilius' did back when he first showed them to him, but instead they slowly float from their containment and into the shadow of a pillar, their wings fluttering as they puff up. With great curiosity spurring him on, Lucifer kneels down on the cold pavement near them and simply observes them while they seem to attempt preening their wings for the first time, even if that's still far out of reach (the lack of arms is still a glaring obstacle at this stage).

Once satisfied with their "preening", they venture from the pillar's shadow into the gentle sunlight and quickly deem it to their liking. Their little form shakes, their wings spread as far as they possibly can. It takes Lucifer a short moment to realize that the little one has discovered sunbathing, causing him to chuckle at their pleased chirping. 

He shall make further preparations and move to the final act in due time, because what is a good researcher if not patient?

* * *

Days pass. This time Lucifer knows for sure that it's been days since he studied and documented the development of the core closely over the course of last week. 

And once again, he finds his thesis confirmed: _warmth and sunlight do help._ The primal core he created moves much slower than Lucilius' did back then, but it also moved to the cradle phase faster. The necessary studies are no longer available to him, so he can only assume that the fact that they're close to stagnant aids the development of a cradle. Add the outside factors like this open-air site and at least eight hours of daylight, and they should be able to cocoon sooner than his creator's specimen. 

_Needless to say, that they did._

Lucifer's pencil scrapes over a piece of parchment with haste as he sketches the appearance of what used to be the primal core. It's close to beyond recognition. The rings have grown in diameter greatly, with more golden filigrees developing in different shapes and sizes, and their wings have coalesced into a shield-like structure. Meanwhile something like a protective membrane has formed around the core which Lucifer assumes to be the primal's future egg sac. Little veins and boughs of organic matter keep the orb anchored to the inside of the feathered shield. There might already be traces of the placenta when he thinks of what it looked like after Lucilius' primal crowned from their cradle. _Hopefully that's a good sign and nothing is growing out of order._

Thanks to the fabric screens he did manage to acquire (even if - you guessed it - through Esther's assistance), curious eyes won't be able to catch a glimpse without his explicit permission. _The cradle must remain undisturbed at all costs._ He got this far and no Astral, **_not even Lucilius,_ ** shall ruin it.

Whereas the little primal was quite noisy before, they fell silent. Little tremors within the egg sac is the only sign of life as of now, but that's enough for him. _Right, perhaps that's an important detail to note,_ he thinks to himself as he writes it down to avoid later confusion when he has already forgotten about his own assumption. His hand cramps, so he puts his parchment along with the pencil away for a moment to relax.

However, once his body relaxes, his mind begins to wander - and today it quickly returns to a question he had asked himself before but never answered.

What will he name them? _How_ will he name them? 

The reason to ask "what" is clear in this case, but what about the "how"? Well, Lucifer sees it this way: what if they don't like the name they were given? Perhaps there are different methods than simply naming them. Technically, they could even name themself if he presented them with a list and allowed them to pick whatever they liked best. Yes, this seems like a good way to handle it. Though his hand protests the act of writing more, the Supreme Primarch takes a new piece of parchment from his pile of supplies and gets to work… or well, he would, if he had any names in store.

He groans at that. Not a single name has crossed his mind. Not even unacceptable ones, not to mention acceptable ones. _There's just nothing._ The Astral language is one of great beauty but Lucifer is unsure whether any of it would be befitting of this primal. Aside from that, it has to be something unique, yet not too unique to the point where they would be ridiculed. 

Several minutes are spent in silence, but it seems that he finally has some thoughts worth mentioning - and writing down. Lucifer chews on his lips while knee deep in his musings and his hand is quick to get to work. _Hmm… Matarael sounds nice, but so do Ireul and Ramiel. Perhaps Shamshel or Sahaquiel? But he also likes the sound of Arael. Oh, wait..._ **_Sandalphon_ ** _is a nice name, too. Or maybe even Tabris. Or…_

Lucifer stops himself mid-thought. Perhaps eight names will suffice. 

And thus, he's fresh out of things to do while waiting for the primal to be born. Well, he can rethink his naming choices but that's pretty much it. Touching their fragile form without a valid reason is something he wants to avoid, even more so than outsiders treading on his research grounds. Lucilius' foul demeanor and their issues with one another aside, Lucifer finally understands why he hates working with others so much. Anyone else would be in the way. 

And thus he waits, patient as ever. 

* * *

Lucifer's breakfast today is rather skimpy for his growing appetite, but some bread and tea shall suffice. The bare minimum is enough for him right now. He stuffs a last bite into his cheek with great difficulty and immediately washes it down with cold tea, gasping for air afterwards. Hunger is making him eat faster than he should and he pays for his greed with full-body hiccups and feeling almost uncomfortably full. Lucifer is aware that neglecting oneself in the favor of research is a trait he has witnessed in his creator as well, but he shies away from staying up several nights in a row or simply not eating any longer; he's rather frail in that department. Even if the stone pavement isn't that comfortable, _even_ with several blankets on it, he managed to get a good night's sleep.

With food matters out of the way, Lucifer takes his time to review his studies from last night. The cradle - or rather, its _contents_ \- began to twitch. It was only a mere jolt, the slightest movement undeserved to be even classified as such, but it's a sign of life. Everything seems to be going according to the research papers Lucilius created. And thanks to his documents he knows for sure that two months have passed since he began to observe the primal's development from a mere core to an entire cradle - which definitely isn't the timespan his creator mentioned. Six months is the minimum, with up to a year as maximum after which the cocoon is considered abiotrophic.

Putting his papers aside, the Supreme Primarch stands up, stretching and dusting off his robes after sitting on the ground for too long. The area within the primal pikes has become littered with his personal belongings _(littered_ is a strong word here; it's just various little clusters with varying degrees of disorder), although he does his best to keep the space as neat as possible. Everything has its order, even if most people would say otherwise at first glance. 

Foresighted as he is, Lucifer has already prepared equipment he might need to help the primal during their crowning phase: supplies like gloves, scalpels of different sizes and other medical utensils, rested on a metal trolley by one of the pillars. Along with the supplies stands a spray bottle filled with water, together with a soft brush. However, Lucifer has no interest in preening himself. 

With great care he wets the cradle's feathery hull and brushes it equally careful. The feathers had kept their brown hue and it only seems to intensify each day with Lucifer's tender affections. He prides himself with the fact that Lucilius' cradle looked nowhere near as healthy as the one he's caring for right now. But he knows not to overdo it, as too much moisture would soften the cocoon and perhaps even cause it to fall apart, yet if there is too little, it will simply break open prematurely. Or at least that's what Lucifer suspects based on Lucilius' findings when it came to tissue samples from his cradle.

Satisfied with his work, Lucifer returns the brush and spray bottle to their respective spots, sitting back down in his makeshift blanket nest between binders of his studies. The cradle stirs anew, perhaps in appreciation, and thus confirms the researcher's premonition.

It won't be long now. 

* * *

Another crack opens in the bottom of the cradle, allowing mucus to leak on the stone pavement freely. It is barely before dawn. Lucifer found himself awoken by that familiar, utterly disgusting crunching sound, heralding the arrival of the primal he so lovingly crafted over the course of months. 

Quickly he had discarded his long robes to reveal the form-fitting (and generally Astral atypical) wear underneath so he won't get any slime on them and got himself a pair of gloves. Lanterns were lighted around the site, ensuring that he'll be able to assist the primal in their very first struggle to the best of his abilities. A harsh tremor shakes the cradle. More wet crunching ensues. Lucifer has to keep himself from retching by actively telling himself not to do so in a silent mantra. Another tremor and a mucus-covered arm breaks through the shell, fingers flexing and stretching as the primal already seems to test out their new limbs.

Eager to finally meet them, Lucifer simply cannot stop himself from taking their hand into both of his, gently caressing it. He allows the moment to last for just a bit longer, before he lets go, allowing them to continue their struggle against the cocoon. However, the researcher doesn't even think about forcing them to fight longer than necessary as Lucilius did with his specimen. With the trolley standing at his side, an appropriate scalpel is quickly found. He doesn't plan on simply jamming it in there, though. A delicate incision is made at the edge of the crack the primal is already reaching out of, opening it further. 

Something like a frustrated gurgle can be heard. The primal bends their arm, fingers clawing into the outside of their shell, likely in anger that they're not freed of it yet. With his free hand, Lucifer gently pats their forearm in an attempt to calm them. He's there to help after all. They hold still for a moment and the researcher suspects that his tender affection was able to curb their frustration, but no such thing; he has to realize that they were simply taking a break.

The cradle bulges as the primal within spreads their wings as far as the membrane allows them to and stretches the cocoon to the point where it can no longer retain its natural shape. Lucifer expects them to do it like Lucilius' specimen did before them: stretch the cradle with their wings to the point of breaking. But they appear to take a different approach. Judging by the movement within, they're attempting to beat their wings as if in flight. Whether this technique is better than the other is a good question, because to Lucifer it seems equally inefficient. 

A choking sound alarms Lucifer, tears him from his musings, and he acts right away. The opening is nowhere big enough for the primal to slip through it completely, so he cuts it a little further. Obscene squelching follows and he almost wants to turn away since he feels like he's seeing something he shouldn't. However, Lucifer is glad that he didn't because a scalp of brown hair along slender shoulders slip from the cradle.

More choking, followed by a loud gag. He operates mindless and mostly on instinct, quickly supports the primal's head with his hands to ensure that they don't break their neck or suffocate from the mucus. The poor thing retches as they do their best to rid their system of the gelatinous mass, but once they do, Lucifer couldn't be any happier. They keen softly as air finally rushes into their lungs. They even feel comfortable enough to rest the full weight of their head on their creator's hands.

To hold something so precious in one's hands– perhaps he understands Lucilius a little better now. Though, there is still a glaring difference between them: whereas his own creator seems to be borderline obsessed with recreating his first and best specimen, Lucifer is currently looking at **_his_ ** magnum opus, _the one and only of their kind._

Even though they've barely left their cradle, their eyes peer at him with great curiosity, pupils narrowed into thin stripes. They remind him of Lucilius' specimen. Although their features are soft and their jaw possesses a tender curve, they bear the same gaze, dyed a fierce red. 

And Lucifer would have observed them for a while longer, if it wasn't for the fact they have slowly begun to slip from their cocoon. With haste he reaches for the blanket he prepared for them, unfolding it in a similar manner. Thus, he quite literally awaits their official arrival with open arms. Just in time, too. The researcher grunts when they allow themself to fall into his embrace and he quickly wraps them into the fabric. It's cold enough to see one's breath; he's not keen on finding out whether primals can catch common colds or not. 

The primal trembles in his arms, barely able to stand on their feet on their own. Had they been alone, they would have fallen for sure, but he's there to support them - and they seem to enjoy it. When Lucifer is about to let them go, he finds himself unable to. He can barely feel it, but their hands are carefully clawing into his sides even through the thick blanket. It doesn't take long for their head to drop against his shoulder. Lucifer's core is humming so loud that he can feel its vibrations all the way up into his throat. 

_He knows this, and he knows it well._

However, this young primal manages to trigger the response that Lucilius couldn't.

They sink into his arms, threaten to slip from them, but Lucifer follows suit and sinks onto his knees with them. He doesn't mind that the disgusting cradle muck is soaking his pants and sticks to the fabric in all its repulsive glory. Their legs seem to have given out, but he doesn't mind that either; they've been alive for barely five minutes, so there's no use berating them. They're holding onto him as if their young life depends on it.

And Lucifer does the same, sobbing in happiness over the fact that they came this far.

* * *

"I will **_not_ **allow you to apply for housing in that thing's stead.", Lucilius states, his words final.

"Lucilius, you-", Lucifer begins, but is cut off right away.

"It can waste away in a holding cell along with that other defective pile of organic matter for all I care. That's my final say on the matter." A pause before another set of devastating words. "Do **not** consult me over such trivial matters again, Lucifer. I have to prepare for the next council meeting and present your sorry excuse of a primal beast."

They have been arguing for at least a few minutes or so. He isn't sure. At least it's enough for the housing complex to know what's going on and most residents avoid leaving their quarters. Lucifer had forgotten how grating it is to fight with Lucilius. He didn't miss it at all.

"Your studies are littered with inaccuracies, too. I can't use them at all.", Lucilius continues.

Lucifer can feel his patience dwindling. It's not completely gone but he doesn't want to let it come to that.

"Do you really have nothing to say for yourself?", his creator grunts, "You've wasted my time and all you could present me with is that jumbled mess of a research paper? I supposed it doesn't come as a surprise, considering your less-than-satisfactory-result."

"Lucilius, that's enough." Lucifer's usually so soft voice has gone cold and low. The Astral has no idea what he's in for.

 _"Enough?_ **Tch,** I haven't even begun to go in depth yet." A pause, possibly a way to gauge for the Supreme Primarch's reaction. "Your specimen leads me to believe that you didn't understand my craft properly. Its parameters are the worst I have ever seen. Even some of my failed attempts had better mobility than it does."

And thus, the usually so complacent primal loses his patience, but it's not an outburst like Lucilius has them. 

There's no warning in advance for what follows next. The sound of a particularly hard strike echoes through the corridor. Lucifer's body had acted on its own, perhaps as a way of venting aggression from months ago. No words are spoken and all that Lucilius offers to his creation is a wide-eyed and pallid expression, well-rounded with tears to match. But Lucifer doesn't care, doesn't follow him when the Astral storms off with hasty steps. That's not his problem anymore.

With a soft sigh, he opens the door to his living quarters and slips in quietly. The young primal is cowering on his bed with their wings puffed up as much as possible in utter distress while they look upon him with big doe eyes. They can't speak yet, but they certainly understand it when they're spoken to - or spoken about, in this case. 

Lucifer's shoulders sink as he speaks to them softly, "I'm sorry you had to hear that."

He slumps down at the edge of his bed with some distance to them, so he doesn't make them even more uncomfortable than already. Things played out differently in his mind, to put it mildly. Perhaps putting any trust at all into Lucilius was a mistake. 

"It seems you'll have to stay here for a while longer.", the Supreme Primarch muses out loud, "I'll sleep on the floor then, I guess."

There's no response, only the soft rustling of sheets, followed by a comforting weight against Lucifer's back as they lean on him, likely in an attempt to calm him down. They're barely a week old, yet they possess more emotional intelligence than Lucilius could ever hope to acquire. Everything had gone downhill from the very moment on where Lucifer returned to his creator with the primal in tow. He didn't react well at all. The insults ranged from based on their physique to their low combat capabilities. Lucifer didn't want to create a beast of war, but rather one of… well, something nicer and more morally sound.

However, he can ponder on their purpose in this vast world later. For now, he remembers that there's a different matter pertaining to them he shall attend to. On his night stand rests a certain roll of parchment, put there to be readily available for whenever there's an opportunity to serve its purpose. He didn't get a chance - until now, that is.

"Hey." Cue a soft bump of his elbow. "I have been meaning to ask you something important, so… I figured this would be a good time to sort this out."

The young primal grows attentive at the sound of parchment being unrolled, their pupils dilated to the point where the red of their irises is no longer visible. They're still wary of most noises, so they're very careful when they hear something they don't know that well yet.

"You know, I was losing sleep over this decision back when you weren't here yet, but I hope that you enjoy at least one of them.", Lucifer tells them as he presents the list of names he had created for them. Fingers crossed, because he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if they didn't like any of them.

They sit beside him properly with something akin to haste and excitement in their movements, practically staring the list down. Then, their gaze moves back to Lucifer, giving him that same doe eyed look once more and pointing at themself.

"I wasn't sure what to name you but I also didn't want to force something on you that may not be to your liking, so I… I would like you to pick a name for yourself.", he explains in the hope that they understand and that he isn't making a fool of himself.

There's no response of any kind and Lucifer is worried that they might not understand as much as he thought while they ponder for what feels like an eternity and more. What he doesn't know is that they take this decision seriously too, knowing that it may dictate their entire life.

Then, they point wordlessly.

"This one?", Lucifer asks.

They nod.

"Sandalphon it is, then."

 _Sandalphon,_ he repeats to himself in silence. A fitting name for them.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! (kudos + comments appreciated!!!)


End file.
